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Tag Archives: plumes


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golden moment. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

they were luminescent as the noon sun caught them in its grasp. magical. glowing. each individual seed seemed poised for takeoff, ready to catch the breeze, twirl and fly.

it is much like how i am feeling as i painstakingly go through the house … the bedrooms, the attic, the basement …

the memories all gather on the plume, ready to catch the next breeze and twirl in front of me, bringing me back to moments a long while ago – many decades or even just a few years.

they are golden, these memories, and i give them time as i touch the relics, leftovers saved. i’m trying to go slow, even as i wish to accomplish much quickly. my thready heart relishes what i can remember, even when it sorts to sadness, even when it sorts to tears. in the timeline of life, i am bobbing around like the crazy super balls we had as kids – the ones with bouncing trajectories you couldn’t predict. the wham-o super ball would zig and zag and i am zigging and zagging through time just like that.

sometimes i have to leave a box or a bin or a pile for a bit, step away and breathe through it. i have found that touching these objects – the tactile – makes it all real and up-close, almost like it’s now. and, because i am the sensitive, emotional type, i have to step back … back into the room, straighten up, look out the window, pet the dog, sip some water. it can be overwhelming, this going back stuff.

as the bins empty and the sorting keeps going – this is merely phase one – i can feel the space opening. i can feel the air of whatever is next. i will still save many things, though i know that perhaps some will be relinquished in phase two or three. it gives me a bit more time with the artifacts of my life.

and the treasured antiquities nod as i put them in the save pile. they know it is their golden moment – their chance to twirl for me, their flight with me. they are as luminescent as the plumes, ever so countless, glowing in the noon sun.

*****

HOLDING ON, LETTING GO © 2010 kerri sherwood

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lessons from plumes. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it’s a two-sided coin.

these stunning plumes rise above the grasses, catching the breezes, the last vestiges of light as the sun sinks, a place for lagging butterflies to linger a moment, catch their breath.

but – the tiny seeds that form these stunning plumes are actually tiny swords that find their way onto clothing and dogga and into every manner of places and stab us time and again. they are inescapable. they are incessant. they seemingly multiply like the needles from a fresh-cut scotch pine in december – and january and february and even march.

it’s a problem.

reluctant to deal with it, we put up with the pointy seedheads for a while, poking fun at their stubborn ability to show up – simply everywhere – even while suffering.

until it just seems silly that we are enduring this pointed attack on our peaceful existence – capitulating to these ornamental grasses – these beautiful, elegantly flowing sculptures around our yard.

but it’s solvable.

and so, we decide to snip off the plumes that bend over, arcing to attach themselves to dogga or our passing-by. we decide to snip off the plumes that block the sidewalk to our front door. we decide that we can have it both ways – gorgeous grasses with upright plumes catching the light, the wind, the creatures but no low-hanging attack plumes. we figure out what to do with our – beloved – grasses.

because that’s what adults do when faced with – even the smallest – problem. we negotiate a solution that will not cause more pain.

*****

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plumes. in context. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

a closer look. i like to turn my macro-lens eye at things…to look at the detail of them. the close-up is often so very different from the overarching view or the afar – and, out in nature, it reveals tiny worlds we are generally unaware of.

i aimed my camera at the reed grass plumes. gorgeously graceful, arcing, they are plentiful in our yard – and their dance in the wind brings life to our gardens. i was astounded at the closer-up photographs, ropey, twine-like, fibrous. are these jute fibers shot with a macro lens?

there is so much more than meets the eye. from a distance, we give nod to the plumes, appreciate them but not necessarily the complexity of their makeup or their role. as a singular object – a reed grass, a plume – it is likely of little consequence to us.

but contextually – in the context of the garden – it is a haven for the winter, a place where creatures will find safety and warmth, protection from predators. this singular grass may make the difference between survival and not for some critter out there.

there is a lot going on now in the arena of this country. incompetent leaders are being selected to destroy the hard work of the past that protects rights and freedoms, that addresses survival for the populace.

we could giggle at the singular choices – laugh – guffaw – at the insane maga administration and cabinet picks that can only point to destruction. were this to be a movie – a farce, satire – about the country, it would be tempting to laugh – it is that unhinged, that thuggish. but it is not a movie and each singular choice has profound consequence – even if it does not directly affect specifically me or you…yet.

and so, contextually – in the context of our country – it is a breeding ground of calamitous policy – deliberately harmful to our democracy, deliberately regressive, deliberately hurtful – expressing the wish even for crushingly austere hardship – led by a catastrophic kakistocracy. there is nothing to giggle about there, nothing funny about that. the close-up is a macro view of a cold overarching exploitation of these united states.

we can sit back – and watch the show – some of us (though not including the personal “us”) feeling somewhat impervious to the destruction-to-come. one can poke fun to get through a moment or two. but from afar or close-up – either one – the consequences of this election – the choice that almost half our fellow voters chose – will eradicate what we know.

there are gleefully menacing people – predators – out there, just chomping at the bit to have power, to reign with supreme control, to remove all the reed grasses from our gardens and leave us there without the safety or warmth of democracy.

every plume matters. especially right now.

*****

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golden. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

“as we walk in fields of gold…” (gordon matthew sumner (sting) – fields of gold)

it is the grasses that thrive in our yard. the hostas have mostly yielded to the daylilies and the ferns have volunteered into a bigger garden out in the corner under the trees. the peonies hold their own – their blooms ever the sweetest. but the grasses – planted in our sandy soil near the lake – multiply and thrive.

were we to be dropped out of the galaxy into our yard, we would at least be able to identify the season – based on the ornamental grasses that grace our gardens. they are stalwart and enduring, coming back despite whatever is happening in our own universe, in the world. they are tuned to the sun and the moon and they set a high bar of appreciation for their renewal, their robust, their willowy feathered plumage, their verdant green in summer and this golden glow in fall.

we sit and gaze at these gardens of gold, particularly as dusk’s setting sun plays over them. we are smitten.

i am planting two new roots of peony, a generous gift from my sister-in-law. carefully we have decided where to place these tiny plant souls. they will flower in white blossoms, different blooms from each other. i will cluster them with one of our hot pink peonies – the one that hasn’t yet budded. and, hopefully, the grasses adjacent in the garden will keep an eye on these newcomers. we can gently plant, water and feed, be mindful of recommendations, but the garden will also tend itself and my sister-in-law has reassured me that peonies are so tough and hardy that they don’t necessarily need anything special. welcome words, as we are really neophytes at this.

there are many gardens with much more variety, that are more exquisite, more elegant, lavish, even opulent. yet, each time we come home – or finish our day on the deck or the patio – now that we have passed by the equinox and autumn is sweeping in on the departing wings of summer – i am grateful for these fields of gold in our yard. the steadfast spirit of these golden grasses aligns with us.

*****

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the edges of autumn. [two artists tuesday]

somehow breck knows. nature, in all its wisdom, whispers “it’s approaching” and breck’s gorgeous aspen leaves begin to turn.

we sat against our pillows with coffee this morning, a cool breeze through the bedroom windows. the crows were cawing and i could hear the lake pound the rocky shore. there is a beach hazards alert today calling for rip currents and higher waves. it’s a little grey out – the day i am writing this – and you can feel fall in the air. the wistfuls are at bay, waiting just a little longer to kick in.

but the grasses are evidence, as plumes of gold and maroon shoot up toward the sky. the cherry tomato leaves are beginning to yellow. the long stems of daylily flowers – sans blooms – are drying. the chippies are amping things up. there are just a few less birds in the morning and we hear geese overhead. up-north, along the side of the lake as we paddled, there were pockets of color. maples turning just a bit, reds and yellows, catching the sunlight. the mornings were cool, sweatshirt-worthy. playing bags in the garage invited a few yellowjackets, their quest to stay alive in september always pre-empting my ease outside as i try to avoid getting stung. it is quieter here at home during the day; school has started. it’s dark now when we wake up and the sun is setting earlier in the evening. autumn is arriving. we are standing at the edges.

we sat on the deck late saturday afternoon after a day of chores around the house. we talked about how it is already september. we tried to remember june. i opened the photo gallery on my phone and went back to the end of may so we could track the events these months. dates and happenings blurred as we strolled through pictures and not-too-distant memories. how does this happen? time flying by.

at the end of a week fraught with sudden worry, we were grateful. we had ridden the roller coaster of fear and intense concern, we had been lingering for days in not-knowing. we reached the end of the week with a few answers, the best of the possible worrisome scenarios. and we were grateful.

breck’s leaves quaked in the breeze that picked up that evening. a few raindrops fell on us. we stayed in our adirondack chairs on the deck and turned our faces to the sky. autumn is coming – in the way seasons roll round and round – and we are happy to greet it.

*****

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magic fluff. [two artists tuesday]

though we are not ‘good’ at many plants, it seems, we are ‘good’ at ornamental grasses. maybe it’s the soil, maybe it’s the sun, maybe it’s location, but grasses have given us a sense of garden-accomplishment that nothing else (shy of mayyyybe the cherry tomatoes and basil and lavender this year) has bestowed upon us.

we won’t cut them down. no pruning. they will stay through the winter, magnificent plumes golden against the drear, against the snow, reminding us of good fluff of the day.

i imagine tiny animals sheltering in their masses, dense bush allowing warmth and security and invisibleness. maybe tiny chipmunks, with pantries of birdseed they have stolen from the finches and sparrows, waylaid from intrepid robins and scarlet cardinals. we’ll just keep filling the birdfeeder. judging by the birds partying in our backyard yesterday, i think we may try and find another birdfeeder to hang as well. i have turned into my parents.

dogdog comes inside each day now, laden with seed pods. if wishes were granted on seedheads, we would have so many magical dreams coming true. he seems to not mind these tiny hitchhikers tucked into his very-furry fur. we pick them off, one by one.

and now i think, who’s gonna stop us from wishing on each one? these grasses grace us in more than one way. let the magic commence.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY