 |
| dame's rocket in bloom
Photo by J. Harrington
|
On a cheerier note, this morning I noticed, for the first time this year, dame's rocket in bloom. Although Minnesota Wildflowers lists this plant as invasive, I can't find it in the Minnesota Noxious Weeds identification guide.
 |
| red columbine in bloom
Photo by J. Harrington
|
Red columbine has bloomed in several places around the house. There's been an explosion of hoary puccoon along the roadside south of the property. I'm trying to keep in mind, and apply to my own life, the Lao Tzu quotation “Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”
Not hurrying relates to the time I've spent recently trying to get the tiller to start so we can plant a three sisters garden and "shopping" at dealers and manufacturers web sites trying to find an appropriate trailer so we can move the tractor with the mower deck mounted. One web site (we won't name the dealer) states "not responsible for any typos, errors, or misprints found in our ads." We found inconsistencies between their ads and the manufacturers load capacity. That doesn't help instill confidence in the dealer so we won't be shopping there but that kind of thing eats up lots of time. Meanwhile, I have important things, like practicing my fly casting, to attend too. Those things will just have to wait until Summer.
In light of the events so far this year, including but not limited to, a pandemic, the nationwide protests against police killing black people, accompanying curfews of various kinds, plus a lack of meaningful progress on addressing any number of longstanding issues suck as inequality, racism or climate change, the following poem by Seamus Heaney seems to fit our change of seasons as well as "O tempora, O mores."
Anything can happen. You know how Jupiter
Will mostly wait for clouds to gather head
Before he hurls the lightning? Well, just now
He galloped his thunder cart and his horses
Across a clear blue sky. It shook the earth
And the clogged underearth, the River Styx,
The winding streams, the Atlantic shore itself.
Anything can happen, the tallest towers
Be overturned, those in high places daunted,
Those overlooked regarded. Stropped-beak Fortune
Swoops, making the air gasp, tearing the crest off one,
Setting it down bleeding on the next.
Ground gives. The heaven’s weight
Lifts up off Atlas like a kettle-lid.
Capstones shift, nothing resettles right.
Telluric ash and fire-spores boil away.
********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.
No comments:
Post a Comment