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green and grey...
Mar. 16th, 2005 08:33 amLeaving tomorrow for Charleston. More laundry for me, and the Thursday KP duty a day early. Such is life. Shrug and roll on.
Found this, perusing the Sent file at my e-mail account. Gods and Dogs, I'm a packrat... Figured I'd put it here so it's not lost if I ever go housecleaning there like I need to go housecleaning in realtime...
Without further ado, then...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My first impressions of the plant?
Smoke/fragile, and
Damned tenacious.
It's a fern--at least I think it's a fern--although I'm not certain of its proper name.
It isn't tattooed into the stems, and I'm not of a mind to go researching.
The physical characteristics, though,
lead me to wonder if it's been taking lessons from kudzu:
Tendrils cling to the curtains and splay across the window
looking for a seal to split and wild light to consume.
Fronds--leaves? needles?--as fine as cats' whiskers or mimosa blossoms puff like chlorophyllic clouds and make the whole plant seem to breathe on the currents the air conditioner makes.
But what's this?
Brown bits.
Dead needles, dead fronds, an entire branch of a vine tangled and for some reason dead, though still hanging on to life.
The closer I come, the more I see...
~*~
Gardeners prune things to keep them...
Well...
To keep them.
You put something in the ground and pay no further attention to it,
and it will proceed with its natural cycle as best it can--
growing furiously, spreading itself as far as its nature allows, attempting to reproduce itself, and, in its time, dying.
You prune it to keep it
from "wasting" its energy on "too many" sprigs or branches or blossoms,
or to keep
a blighted part from infecting the whole.
You prune it to keep it
a certain size or shape
or to keep it within your scope of
what is best for it.
(best for you sometimes?)
You prune it to keep it
strong.
~*~
I approach the fern--I think it's a fern--cautiously,
cautiously lay my fingernails at the base of a browned section,
cautiously push my nails through its slender, tender, brittle plantflesh,
cautiously work the severed segment out of the tangled embrace of its kin,
cautiously lay it aside for later disposal.
~*~
For things this size,
the only respectful way to prune is by hand.
Scissors make it too flippant a process.
The trimming away of unnecessary things is painful and should never be done flippantly.
What if God used shears?
My thumbnail is short, strong, sharp.
It does its work well.
And if a little of my blood stains the dried-up leaves, so be it;
it will compliment the tears that have fallen to mingle with
the fallen needles scattered across the carpet.
--30JAN05
~20:45
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news, I seem to have left our cell phone in a little antique shop in Fayetteville yesterday. And if you've ever been to Fayetteville, you'll understand why I now feel I'll be hunting a needle in a stack of needles when the time comes to retrieve it. ~smacks forehead~ Thankfully, I have the proprietress's number. This will be useful...
Found this, perusing the Sent file at my e-mail account. Gods and Dogs, I'm a packrat... Figured I'd put it here so it's not lost if I ever go housecleaning there like I need to go housecleaning in realtime...
Without further ado, then...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My first impressions of the plant?
Smoke/fragile, and
Damned tenacious.
It's a fern--at least I think it's a fern--although I'm not certain of its proper name.
It isn't tattooed into the stems, and I'm not of a mind to go researching.
The physical characteristics, though,
lead me to wonder if it's been taking lessons from kudzu:
Tendrils cling to the curtains and splay across the window
looking for a seal to split and wild light to consume.
Fronds--leaves? needles?--as fine as cats' whiskers or mimosa blossoms puff like chlorophyllic clouds and make the whole plant seem to breathe on the currents the air conditioner makes.
But what's this?
Brown bits.
Dead needles, dead fronds, an entire branch of a vine tangled and for some reason dead, though still hanging on to life.
The closer I come, the more I see...
~*~
Gardeners prune things to keep them...
Well...
To keep them.
You put something in the ground and pay no further attention to it,
and it will proceed with its natural cycle as best it can--
growing furiously, spreading itself as far as its nature allows, attempting to reproduce itself, and, in its time, dying.
You prune it to keep it
from "wasting" its energy on "too many" sprigs or branches or blossoms,
or to keep
a blighted part from infecting the whole.
You prune it to keep it
a certain size or shape
or to keep it within your scope of
what is best for it.
(best for you sometimes?)
You prune it to keep it
strong.
~*~
I approach the fern--I think it's a fern--cautiously,
cautiously lay my fingernails at the base of a browned section,
cautiously push my nails through its slender, tender, brittle plantflesh,
cautiously work the severed segment out of the tangled embrace of its kin,
cautiously lay it aside for later disposal.
~*~
For things this size,
the only respectful way to prune is by hand.
Scissors make it too flippant a process.
The trimming away of unnecessary things is painful and should never be done flippantly.
What if God used shears?
My thumbnail is short, strong, sharp.
It does its work well.
And if a little of my blood stains the dried-up leaves, so be it;
it will compliment the tears that have fallen to mingle with
the fallen needles scattered across the carpet.
--30JAN05
~20:45
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news, I seem to have left our cell phone in a little antique shop in Fayetteville yesterday. And if you've ever been to Fayetteville, you'll understand why I now feel I'll be hunting a needle in a stack of needles when the time comes to retrieve it. ~smacks forehead~ Thankfully, I have the proprietress's number. This will be useful...
