nature

Henbit and Purple Dead-nettle

Rae Spencer4 Comments

Until last year, I never gave much thought to the “purple stuff” that claims the yard each spring. A few hours experimenting with my camera’s macro function converted indifference to fascination. I had never noticed the delicate, fringed mouths and tapering, graceful throats. I had never noticed the subtle differences that mean there are two distinct species of these purple beauties.

Once again, the urge to name what I photograph sent me into research mode. Aided by a 1968 edition of Peterson’s Field Guide to Wildflowers of Northeastern and North-central North America and Virginia Tech’s online Weed Identification Guide, I discovered that the purple blooms are two related species of the mint family:  henbit and purple dead-nettle.

It still seems ironic that I found them listed as both wildflowers and weeds.

I believe the first two photos are henbit, and the last is purple dead-nettle. Please comment with correction and/or confirmation!

More Signs of Spring

Rae Spencer7 Comments

This afternoon my nerves tingle with spring. It’s hard to deny the season when dandelions, hyacinths, and tulips add their voices to the clamor of change. Even the dog speaks, shedding her winter coat in dry clumps, which I scatter from her brush as offerings for the birds. Because I hear them calling, the cardinals and mockingbirds, chickadees and robins. Even a tufted titmouse, a new song for an old yard, aching with hope.

Decay

Rae Spencer8 Comments

By decay, I mean death and its attendants. Detritus and carrion. Decomposition. The rank rot of demise invades every corner of life, a weltering profusion of scavengers overhead and underfoot. They sort and clean, engineering life from death in dank procession, so that leaves grow anew and grass sprouts fresh for the grazers. Scavengers both hasten and stem entropy’s tide, converting order to chaos to order again. Rapid and ageless, decay is our most accurate measure of time, and our most pervasive reminder that time is measured.

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The hawk attack prompted me to pull this piece out of my files. The writing is old, but some of the photos are new.

Hawk Again

Rae Spencer5 Comments

Yesterday afternoon this hawk killed a robin in my back yard. I don’t know if he is the same hawk as the one that killed our baby rabbit, but I have my suspicions. This time, instead of flying away with his prize, he stayed in the rose bed. He ate for nearly a half-hour, even gulped down the bones before he left.

This is only the second time I’ve seen a hawk in my yard, while robins are a constant presence. I’m torn between awe and sorrow, between the stunning beauty of my visitor and the sad spectacle of orange feathers strewn in the grass.

I don’t know if this is a young Cooper’s Hawk or a Sharp-shinned Hawk. Maybe neither? What do you think?

Beautiful Things

Rae Spencer11 Comments

Beautiful Things

See all the small
Beautiful things
I’ve crushed under my boots
Or my tires
Or my hurried, strident tongue

The perfection that was a beetle
Splintered because its jeweled shell
Could not bear my weight

And my regret might feel
Like a question
I haven’t the wisdom to ask

The intricate heartwork
That was a rabbit
Dashed under my tire
And left for the vultures

Who might partake of rabbit
Skin and fur and bones
Delicate answers
Ground within the gizzard
And lost

So that should I someday
Remember the question
Or think it first in a dream
Only the vulture could answer

The simplicity of “Why?”
Lost for lack of time
Or patience
Or knowledge enough of children
To know that the answer doesn’t matter

Only the voice
And the moment
And the ritual of exploration

So I offer the only answer
That addresses the question
“Because it must”

Which is also “because
I must”
Which answers all the questions
I have the wisdom to ask

Published in The 2006 Chaffin Journal