The last stage of the common milkweed before the dry and crumbling stalks of winter. These seeds with their diaphanous silky strands drift off like tiny fairies, so light they can catch the smallest updraft of air, and float away. I stand and watch them, an annual enchantment.
Today seemed spent in observation. Leaves were golden, tiny butterflies still about, and the bees were still lugging in full baskets of pollen.
My mind played tricks with me, I saw Lily out of the corner of my eye all day, and this evening I could have sworn I heard her miaowing for her supper.
Tonight Matthew saw my drawing on my desk and said, "That's so cool, Mom, but you're not that lumpy." We laughed, and he added, "Where did you get the cardinals?" I replied, "Don't you know that I just walk outside and cardinals fly down and land on my head?" He smiled, "Oh yes, they just think, Oh, red hair, red hair, yay!" Which would be rather cool.
I don't know where the hibiscus came from, I just thought of a red flower and there it was!
The flower has become a lady all dressed up for the ball, and she has just come home and is getting undressed. Slowly we rip off each bright red ball-gown petal. The softer ones underneath are her petticoats, and they come off too. Then she sits and takes off her powder, the yellow pollen on the stamens at the end of the style, and then her tiara, which is the beautiful little velvety crown-like stigma right at the top of the style, which just pulls off easily. Then is the funny part for little kids, and we never tired of it, of its rudeness, as now all we have left is the bare style, and if you squeeze the thicker bottom of the style, which is actually the ovary, the little light-green ovule gets shot out, and that is the lady going to the toilet, to great glee and giggles from the two little best friends in their Rustenburg uniforms, one blonde and blue-eyed, the other brown-eyed with long dark wavy beautiful hair.
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