Another rainy day and another video from the summer archives. (I blame the rain, but it’s not the rain’s fault. Even if it does make me so sleepy I can hardly think.)
This video has a little history. In the process of identifying the caterpillar, I contacted our local wildlife columnist. She included one of my pictures in her column and published a follow-up column after another reader reported being stung.
You must enter the dream
Like a rose petal unfolding
At midnight
Making no sound
And appearing not to move
The journey that is not a journey
Begins and ends on a rose petal
Unfolding
The rose has grown wild
Against a broken trellis
And an abandoned house
That sags with absence
This dream place would be barren
But for the rose
Petal unfolding
Grown wild against silence
Which you cannot break
Even if you could be heard
And what you will not say
Is all that remains of this house
The house of things you’ve known
The rose petal
Unfolding at midnight
Is why you have come
Not the broken window
Which allows time to seep
In and out of absence
Curling over and through
And past
You must exit the dream
You have seen enough
Been enough alone
Unable to start or end
The journey that is not a journey
While you were dreaming
The rose petal unfolded
Though neither of you moved
Today’s editing efforts deteriorated into a session of self-doubt. After a few sweaty hours of hammering at a lost cause, I forced myself to close the word processing software, turn off the light, and shut the office door tight behind me. Ever have one of those days?
I completely missed a beautiful morning, and now the sky is growling and gray. It’s a perfect afternoon for a new book and an old video. Here’s a luna moth caterpillar getting ready for winter:
Today was all thunder and rain in the yard, complete with torn petals and ankle-deep mud and drenched birds. Tomorrow threatens to bring more of the same. In protest, I’m reposting one of my favorite summer videos:
Rae Spencer 