Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Misty Milkweed Landscape Hidden Longings for Truth On Wildflower Wednesday

Yesterday morning there was a lovely warmish mist about the gardens. I enjoy the landscape this time of year, as the fields have just been cut again, revealing the sensual lay of the land. Dialogues between trees are poetic. The mist is so thick . . .  that while standing down in the far north field . . .  I can hardly see the giant Rock Maples up by the house. 

The funky Crabapple Orchard is dreaming of spring blossoms and lovely tea parties. I inhale a pleasant fragrance, while strolling under the small orchard and other Apple trees. Most of the fallen apples have been eaten but there is still a sweetness in the air.

This yearling might find a few more fallen apples along the garden floor.

My favorite native Black Cherry solidly stands before the ghostly White Birch . . . barely seen through the veil of mist.

Then further over and down east, Gray Birches and native Blueberries clump together below an old Apple carrying its burden of branches. 

Blueberry tips are a beautiful rosy tone adding a splash of bold to the more muted landscape. 
Shimmering bejeweled spiderwebs are draped between sleeping buds.

Queen Anne's Lace is all closed in on herself holding seeds and captive Milkweed fluff.

A Milkweed seed may have landed on the open flower and became a prisoner as the 'Queen' folded her lace tightly in. 

Empty and emptying seed cases of Milkweed still stand as ornaments in a fall garden.

Mist seen in the landscape appears like a gauzy, gossamer swathe softly enveloping the plants, shrubs and trees. Upon closer observation of Milkweed seed fluff, I find hundreds of tiny drops of clear spheres clinging to the silken threads.

These native wildflower seeds will not be flying today, for they are bedecked with heavy drops of moist gems.

The saturated white silk is akin to that of snow in the subdued autumn gardens. I am thankful for the absence of the other wet stuff thus far.

A dainty Milkweed seed caught by a wild aster is equal in beauty to any crystal chandelier creation. 

Most of the seeds have escaped this Milkweed pod, while precious new tenants have taken up residence.  They will not reside inside for too long, and once dried out . . .  the remaining seeds will fly away in a cool wistful breeze. 
These are my wildflower offerings for the very gracious Gail's Wildflower Wednesday. I hope you will visit her over at Clay and Limestone . . .  to see other wildflower contributions. I am also making this my Blooming Friday post, for there is a bit of white in most every photo. You can visit lovely Katarina's Roses and Stuff to see other touches of white from around the world.

I would like to end this post with a special thanks to all of my readers for your enduring support in my venture here. I am truly so thankful for you all and wish you a safe and Happy Thanksgiving! I know there are many, who do not celebrate this American holiday, but I am wishing you a lovely day as well.

 Each year at this time many gather with loved ones and friends to celebrate Thanksgiving . . . it seems like the perfect time of year to discuss our true native 'wildflowers' . . . the Native Americans and what they had to endure from the Puritans . . . who were far from pure . . .  from where they came . . .  or here . . . where they remained. Our President did sign a Native American Apology Resolution back in December 2009, though I never heard it spoken. I am happy for this beginning in working towards a healing of our tragic and violent beginnings here on this great land. A vast land we call 'our' land . . . this land is 'your' land . . . this land is 'my' land . . .  was, when the settlers arrived . . .  inhabited by Native Americans, who were soon overcome and uprooted by the invasive settlers we call Pilgrims. Our Thanksgiving story is such a myth. The true story deserves to be told and retold. Here is a link you might find helpful. History can be honest and even though there is shame and heartbreak within the seeds of our country, there is always a place for healing and reparations, when we own our true story. A mist can be beautiful in a landscape, but in our history . . .  lies that hide within intentionally woven veils of deception . . .  must be unwoven and hung out into the full light of day and truth, to be understood . . . so that perhaps we will grow and learn not to repeat the same unjust mistakes over and over again. Peace be with you.
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