It’s the evening after a meditation Intensive, and I take my favourite walk. I stand and marvel at the grass bank stretching before me. It glimmers, like a green and white silk scarf, a long one, ripping in the wind.
I move closer and stand again to enjoy. Every little white flower head is moving: not exactly a nod, and not exactly a shake, but somehow a mix of both. They shiver, not with the cold, for spring is warming now, but maybe with excitement to be growing with such freedom.
I move closer still and discover what these shiny white flowers are: in my vegetable garden I call them onion weed and yank them out. Yet here I am admiring their massed presence.A weed, said someone, is a plant in the wrong place. Is onion weed good or bad? Foolish question. I laugh at the illusion of duality.
4 comments:
Beautiful Juliet. Wild flowers I call them, nature's gift to us all.
This is so funny Juliet. These are what I was calling white bluebells! Friend Barbara from Auckland staying with me in the hols declared them to be onion flowers. I was sure thay didn't smell strong enough as I remember onion flowers from Auckland days, but looking at yours..they must be! Like you I think they are lovely anyway but they are beating the bluebells and that's not so good.
It's edible! :) http://starcooked.blogspot.com/
I am in envy of my neighbour's neglected patch just over my back fence...lol
Thanks for the information Nikki; there are enough onion flowers on that bank for quite a feast if I decide to try.
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