I've been photographing flowers more than my horses--I think, because each unfolding of a new bloom means I'm that much closer to true Spring--sunshine, dry trails, happy horses.
Last year I planted Crocus, even though I'd blogged about them for two years on my other blog--Emily Dickinson's Garden. What a joy to watch them come up. It's love. Here's today's post from that blog for those of you who also garden.:
This diagram is from A Handbook of Crocus and Colchicum for Gardeners by E. A. Bowles Ma.A., F.L.S., F.r.E.S., V.M.H. published by The Garden Book Club, 121 Charing Cross Road, London WC2. in 1955. I found this on a wonderful British site: Ivy Dene Gardens.
"She opens the paper wrappings,
hands delicate as a crocus unfolding
in the morning light. Little hands working
to part the frail chapter of circumstance
where histories float like clouds on an untouchable scrim."
From, The Vistor, by Anya Russian
Here are the stages of the Crocus, in pictures, taken from my own garden Spring 2011.
1. Leaves push up from the ground.
2. Spathe emerges. You can see the purple of the flower cocooned within. This is like the birthing phase and the spathe is like the womb. It almost looks alien.
3. Bloom pushes out of the spathe.
4. Bloom begins to unfold.
More crocus in The Garden:
Karin Gottshall from her book: Crocus
To read entire book, click on link above.
I was in bed all day with the sun
and a heavy dictionary.
I watched the cat fall asleep
on the wove rug. Outside
a bird unspooled its song in wide,
round loops: drifting off,
coming back. Memory is like that—
words loosed like dust motes,
a dream I slip into: this cat’s
green-eyed mother, her grave
under licorice root and money trees.
Then come the angels of the afternoon
with their wings of flame.
one day language will unbind itself
from me—even to the barest
particulars: the first time
I heard the word crocus, the new
spring sun on my shoulder, smell
of mud—quick freshet
working itself free. At last
to release this word I
into the long blue currents of the sea.