Yesterday was as gorgeous an early fall day as anyone could wish for, so I spent much of it outside being all druidy (maybe druidic is the right word there... but I like druidy better) like I am.
I studied the magnificent defense mechanism of the rose, as a particularly large specimen defended itself against my lopers and my skin. The thorns don't grow from inside the stem, they are attached to the very outermost layer of the plant and are composed of an entirely different type of tissue with a higher concentration of cellulose. They can detach from the branch without too much trouble, which I hypothesize helps the plant so that if the thorn gets lodged in the plant's attacker, the thorn will break off in the intruder rather than the entire plant being pulled along with the would-be assailant. Puncture wounds from thorns also seem to have an uncanny tendency towards mild infection (as I know from several first-hand experiences), which would further discourage animals from coming back for a second attack. In addition to how well these things work, thorns are beautiful if you inspect them closely, especially the mature, woody ones. They are so hard and sleek and they reflect the sunlight so that they look faintly iridescent. I also admired the ways thistles protect themselves, but not in as much depth as I admired the roses.
While pulling thistles I noticed all sorts of exciting things in the dirt. I always love digging through living dirt full of roots and bugs and nutrients and all sorts of other thriving things. The first thing I found wasn't alive at the time, but it must have been an absolutely stunningly pretty beetle at one point. I found the empty exoskeleton of a beetle about the size of my thumbnail colored like a pale turquoise gem of all shades of aqua. I'll post a picture when my cruddy camera is happy enough to take one for me. I don't care if nobody else has any interest in pretty exoskeletons, it's going up anyway. After the ex-beetle, I noticed something about grubs that I had never noticed before. Normally I kill them right off (they eat my plants' roots) despite the little twinge of guilt I feel about squashing them, but yesterday I just couldn't bear to snuff out their lives. Especially once they started uncoiling and moving. It's so much harder to kill something that shows definite signs of life. Anyway, back to why they were so intriguing. All six of their legs are under the front quarter of their body and they trail the other three fourths along behind them as they crawl. I also liked how their bodies were translucent allowing me to see all the dirt in their digestive tracts.
To move away from the bugs and back to the plants, it seems that crabgrass can change shades of green. I was looking for signs of the weeds to pull them out before they went to seed, and there were some plants that had the right growth pattern for crabgrass, but they weren't the same vivid green. I pulled one out to find out what type of grass it was, and it came out the same way the other crabgrass did (different plants behave differently while being uprooted; it's hard to explain) and had the same root pattern. Fascinating.
I also spent some time walking along the fence where the fall-blooming clematis grows, breathing in the sweet scent of its blossoms. Later I sat up in the gigantic white pine in front of my house.
All day long I enjoyed the wind. The cool, brisk breeze of autumn. Sometimes it danced across my arms and kissed me lightly on the face, other times it impatiently tried to shove me this way and that, but it was always welcome.
In the evening I lit a fire in the fire pit out back and tended to the burning wood while watching the ebb and flow of the frenzied dance of the flickering flames. I came inside smelling heavily of wood smoke, which is one of my favorite smells in the world. Unfortunately, society doesn't smile upon those who walk about smelling like fire, and my mom is part of society.
I fell asleep with my window wide open to let the chilly fresh air in and my nose and toes tingling from the coolness of the night.
It was a jolly good day in the life of a druid.
1 comment:
I have to admit, you spend your days more interestingly than those of anyone whose days I hear about on a remotely regular basis. I do hope you were keeping your eyes out for Romans, though. You know what they do to Druids.
I myself spent Sunday afternoon with a dear friend (a former attorney and a current telemarketer) and two dear inhabitants of my home (my father and brother) outdoors (like unto thyself), a very short distance from NHCC and its surroundings, all the while having a wonderful time and ultimately making myself ill (for I neglected to nourish my innards). Fear not, I am better now. It is to be assumed that my statement has interested you greatly, despite the fact that it was not all that interesting.
Post a Comment