Ground laid bare around the white picket fence bordering the garden and edging the sidewalk. The grass had been torn up to reveal the dirt, dark and inviting to life, a bed of opportunity. Seeds were scattered from packets, a mix of colors that would come in, in weeks. Wildflowers springing from the fertile ground, erratic stalks, each topped by a riot of color. But the garden is picked and preened straightening stalks, arranging and curating. Day after day, she is there working to make the flowers do what she wants of them. Wildflowers, forced to conform to her eye, as she stands back in the street to assess aesthetic.
When a horse is broken or a lion is tamed .. i think they're no longer 'wild'.
Perhaps the same for flowers??
Good question.
It defies the word, wild. Lovely poem, Emma!
Thank you darling Rea.
I hope you are well?
I am wonderful, Emma. How are you?
I am good, though I am finding it hard in the heat: it’s sapping my strength a little.
I think I will need a nap this afternoon.
I am freezing cold, but that will change in a few months. Haha!
It was 36C here yesterday and will be no better today.
Oh my god! Do you have a pool? I keep myself wet when it is that hot.
Sow, water, enjoy.
💐🙏
It seems so simple doesn’t it?
I get it. I had friends as a kid that were picked and preened until they were no longer the same people.
Love wildflowers, and this poem. I also love the question you raise, are they indeed still wild?
Well being an Ecologist with a heavy botany background i cant help myself.
I love wildflowers. I do a bunch of natives in different habitats from prickly pear which is native in wit to mesic like hepatica and jack in the box.
Wildflowers can be really pretty. I'd actually thought it putting in part of the back yard - to do what they will.
I let them grow. Im a lazy Gardner, very lazy.