Spiny Secret

There are unexpected, hidden things everywhere we go. I walked past this unusual specimen on one of my hikes. I stared down at the thing a little repulsed at first, thinking someone had left their half-eaten grape in my pristine path. A quick scan of the surrounding area revealed several of these spotted, tortured grape-things strewn about like fruit confetti. By now I was puzzled and emboldened to poke one with a stick.

Upon shifting one around for a while I concluded that it was neither a grape nor was it a danger to my immediate health. So like any curious nature enthusiast I picked it up for a closer inspection. As you can see it is perfectly round and speckled like a ripening banana. When I turned it over I discovered a window to the inside of this mystery. I almost felt like it transported me to another universe, its tiny sun exploding its rays outward to the reaches. I know, I sound like a Star Trek nerd (no offense, Trekkies).

Normally the pod would have piqued my curiosity even more to the point where I would have dismantled it to ascertain its purpose. I didn't though. It may sound silly, but it felt like this inanimate pod was hiding a spiny secret. If it were ready to reveal its secret to the world it would have split open for all to see. Clearly, this pod-thing fell before its time. I didn't want to be the one to expose its vulnerable insides. I set it back down after photographing it, of course, and went on my way.

Reflections on a Lone Flower

I took a walk in the woods today. And as I picked my way across the occasional strewn boulder or exposed root, I contemplated new beginnings and new life -and my life. I do this every spring. I know, cliche. Hardly the topic for riveting reading.

I looked for something in nature to express how I have been feeling lately. I pondered a stream that wandered through rocky banks and half-exposed trees. It gurgled contentedly at me and swirled a wayward leaf.

I paused and photograhed a bald, lanky tree that had fallen into a neighboring sapling, causing it to grow crookedly, accomodating the dead weight. The friction of tree-on-tree groaned at me with a passing breeze.

Then I noticed something in my path. I almost missed it, actually, almost stepped on it, crushing it with my size sevens. Upon further research I found it to be Houstonia serphyllifolia, otherwise known as Thymeleaf Bluet. This dainty wildflower is everywhere in the woods, but never alone. It always has the company of many others of its kind. Seeing a solitary bloom thrust through a carpet of moss caught my attention.

This miniature invasion to the worn footpath sums up nicely how I have been feeling of late. A unique creature, surrounded by a different species. Separated from others of its kind. Blown by the wind to an isolated location, left to thrive in a spot where it can be stepped on, kicked over, crushed by a wayward passerby.

I resisted the urge to claw into the moss and underlying soil to free it from its precarious location. Would my interference save the delicate bloom or cause its demise? Will the inevitable foot traffic snap the stem, cutting it off from its water supply? I told myself I was being rediculous, it's only one of thousands, an insignificant weed.

I trekked on, conflicted, but not looking back. In hindsite I should have saved it and transplanted it alongside its family. Maybe that would give my situation some hope, myself some anticipation of survival. But I am being rediculous. After all, I am no delicate flower.