who do you think you are, hellebore?

…starting so early, when we’ve hardly had any snow, zooming your bloom into the sky?  Do you think it’s spring?

What specific pollinator are you expecting, hellebore? In the dead of winter….

hellebore

Who on earth might stumble along just at the right moment to land on your sticky stamen, now, with all the insects  gone? That one lone leftover housefly, buzzing in the sunny window? 

hellebore not yet open

Think that single, elderly, bumbling house fly is going to find you, way over here on the other side of the house?  How could he even sense you, especially when you’ve got your head bent down to your knees? Hellebore?

You and your swishy friend, Witch Hazel….

witch hazel

You optimists!

I love you.

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~ by kbosin on January 28, 2013.

8 Responses to “who do you think you are, hellebore?”

  1. It’s amazing how the plants just ‘know’ our calendars. The hellebore, Lenten Rose, is right on time here too. And the camellia, Advent Rose, was blooming the past 2 months despite the warm weather, and is now calming down. Even if there were no holiday decorations for Christmas or Mardi Gras, we’d still be able to know what season it was. Cool.

  2. I’ve never seen hellebore, nor her swishy friend. Thanks for sharing. You made me smile.

  3. I just love this color. I always wanted them in my garden however poisonous they are. Thanks for these Beautiful pictures Kathy.
    Love,
    Shalagh

  4. Kath,
    Your latest post with “that one lone last leftover housefly” in it reminded me of a cold winter night around 1977-78 or so when I lived on Penn Grant Road in Pequea Township. I was sitting in my kitchen, feeling pretty down and just not in a very good frame of mind when a winter fly made his presence known and offered some brief diversion to my melancholy state. I guess you could say I took things out on the fly. After which, I ruminated on the general subject of evolution and our respective places in its hierarchy. Then I wrote the following sonnet.

    A Higher Kind

    I sat alone one cold December night
    with nothing very pressing on my mind
    when suddenly there came buzzing behind
    –then in front, a winter fly full of fight.
    He dove, I swung; he swooped, I swished; left, right,
    then up, then down: my swing was hard– and blind.
    But I had intellect, a higher kind.
    I set a trap to lure him to the light.
    I turned off all the lamps but one, then waited;
    and sure enough he flew in unbesought.
    I swung and hit! and he disseminated
    himself upon the wall in one long smear.
    Triumphant now, I sat back down and thought
    What had that fly to do with being here?

  5. The audacity of optimism! Love.

    • Amanda – “The audacity of optimism” is a far better title for that post than the one I came up with – indeed, audacity! Excellent.

  6. Beautiful!

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