31 May 2022 (ant)

a large ant

explores my desktop . . .

peony buds

8 June 2021 (ants)

early morning rush sugar ants

26 July 2019 (ants)

end of July

reconciling myself

to sugar ants

25 June 2019 (peonies)

bowl of peonies

I carry the ants

back outside

July 25: Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens

I spent today leading a haiku workshop at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. We spent much of the afternoon out in the gardens being inspired to write haiku by the landscape and what's living in it. Here are some of mine that arose from today's activities, including some directed exercises:

slow down, ants
you're making me
anxious

stone labyrinth
those ants
aren't staying on the path

water lilies
even the dragonflies
seem entranced

bowing low
to smell the roses
haiku nose

September 21: Ants

Trying to drink my tea

without disturbing

the sugar ants.

August 7: Clothesline

Bridging two worlds--

a single black ant

traverses the white clothesline.

Posted with Blogsy

June 17: Dislocation

Brought in on the peonies

one tiny ant--

will it ever find home?

Posted with Blogsy

May 5: Mutants

I have this weird memory from when I was four years old. While playing in the driveway one day, I came across a really big ant sitting on a log. I remember well the rush of fear and panic at seeing such a thing--it must have been three inches long--although it didn't pay any attention to me. I remember running into the house, not wanting to play in the driveway again, and going out later with some trepidation, hoping it had gone away. But of course, there are no giant ants, even in the strange state of Missouri where we were living at the time. So odds are good this was a dream. Still, that giant ant has stalked my memory for almost 40 years.

Something about oversized things freaks us out. Horror movies take good advantage of that fact, giving us giant spiders, giant snakes, giant carnivorous rabbits ("Night of the Lepus," anyone?), giant killer tomatoes... They don't fit into the natural order of things. (Funny how mutating radiation always makes things in movies bigger or more powerful.)

Which is why tonight I was so horrified by a mutant dandelion plant that I couldn't even bring myself to touch it. Granted, I don't like dandelions anyway. Besides playing a role in my spring hay fever, they mar my lawn. And when you pick one, the stem oozes a milky fluid. Things that ooze milky fluids are creepy too. So I'm already predisposed against dandelions. And then I saw this one. It looked like four or five flower stems had melded together to form one giant stem at least an inch across, a strange succulent-looking stem that was not normal. The unopened flower heads themselves were connected like conjoined siblings. When I first saw the plant, I did a double take and blinked a few times. And noticed there were actually two giant mutated stems in the clump. If there'd been more light, I'd have taken a photo.

The plant borders the sidewalk, so I can't help but wonder if someone disturbed the plant in such a way as to cause it to mutate like that. Or if it just bloomed into a dandelion monster all on its own. It was truly freakish. I left it alone.

Evening calm disturbed
by mutant dandelion.
Not a dream this time.