wild rose, Georgetown MA 2012 |
Wild Woodland Phlox, Georgetown MA 2012 |
Despite my physical neglect, despite the unraked beds of fallen leaves and dried pine needles the wildflowers that brighten my surroundings come up through the debris and brighten my life. Asking nothing from me but appreciation and protection from man's implements, they also provide shelter for the wildlife in my yard. The small birds luxuriate in their soft branches between trips to the feeders nearby. The chipmunks and small red squirrels can hide from the hawks that circle above the area, and the cardinals and goldfinch can hide in the foliage until a clear ascent to the pines for their erratic, bobbing flight is opened, free of
Rick's bird feeders 2012 |
Tall woodland phlox, spindly pink asters, waxen yellow buttercups, wild rose with pink buds and yellow centered white blossoms, lily of the valley that grows pink under the pines, and an occasional lady slipper or jack in the pulpit ... all of these have appeared in my surroundings. I'm happy to share my poem of them here, and photographs taken this year, many years after the poem was scribbled into that notebook, while sitting at that table:
wild asters, woodland phlox, buttercups, and unknown others, Georgetown, MA, early June 2012 |
Wildflowers
by Terry Crawford Palardy
My yard is a haven for all things wild
What others call weeds I have loved since a child
The buttercups held underneath my small chin
Showed I loved butter, although then I was thin
The dandelions grow as they did way back then
Always turning to fluff to be puffed once again
Tiny spikes of pink asters stretch way up and over
The little round blossoms that cover the clover
The maple tree seeds that come spiraling down
Like a helicopter twirling before it finds ground
Whatever the wild green ground cover is called
It is rich and luxurious and need not be mowed.
To think that some kill these young innocent plants
Unable to see the wind's grace in their dance
What others called weeds I rename as wild flowers
I sit and admire for hours and hours.
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