Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Telling Time By Flower's Blooms
That, my dears, is a blossom from a plant known as Clitoria Mariana, also known as Atlantic Pigeonwings but I leave it up to you to decide which is the more accurately descriptive name.
As I say every year when I post a picture of this plant's bloom, when nature finds a design she likes, she is not afraid to use it over and over again.
I wonder who Mariana was. I think someone must have loved her very much. And well. I hope.
The clitoria is blooming along the paths where I walk and they make me smile every time I see them. At least, I smile on the inside. My outside countenance is no doubt decidedly unsmiling and I probably look as if I am determined to survive and not much else which is the actual truth in this heat. I spoke with Jessie this morning and she said it is almost chilly in Asheville and Jane Fishman, in Savannah says that the heat has broken there too.
Ah. Not here. Nor will it for awhile although yes, I have felt fall in the air. I have seen it in the sky and today I walked out onto the back porch to see pale lemon-yellow leaves falling from the Bradford Pears in a shower and I had not even noticed that any of them were turning and yet, there they were, dancing down in a breeze.
There is so much which I don't observe until the fact of it hits me square in the face. I think most of us are like this. We go along and we have pre-determined what we are seeing until something happens like the lavender bloom of the clitoria makes us study the side of the path more sharply. This is why it is good to travel and visit places we have never seen before. We observe so much more and then, when we do come home, we see the familiar more carefully again as well.
Well, it's a theory.
Some of us live to travel and some of us find a that a trip to the henhouse is enough on most days. Or down a path through the woods and behind the old gas station and down Lloyd Subdivision Road and back and to the post office. I am that person, today at least. I am home today, simply and purely home with the exception of that walk and it feels so good. I have pinto beans boiling and collards thawing that I picked and froze a few months ago and the laundry is going and the chickens are fed and the porch plants have been watered and the kitchen floor swept. All such little things but they make me feel as if I have some control over life, as if my life is a thing of tidiness and high fiber, order and low fat.
Which is such an illusion but one I love to allow myself some days.
I don't think that's too much to ask in this big, crazy, complicated, disorderly, chaotic world.
And how any of this ties in to the Clitoria Mariana, I have no idea, but somehow it does at least in the sense that all-is-one and all is connected and suddenly, a great boom of thunder has come from the west and the sky is clouding over and that is perfectly and wonderfully okay with me.
The hurricane lilies will be popping up their heads any day. I am looking for them, I am remembering that they are there, hidden in the ground, waiting for just the right time to make their sudden burst through the dirt and into glory.
Theirs, like the clitoria, is a small, short glory, but a certain and sure one nonetheless.