So here’s one from early this spring. I thought it was one of the strangest flowers I’d ever seen, which is why I spent at least fifteen minutes on my knees in the grass with it, trying to get adequate photos of it.
I mean, it barely looks like a flower, does it? It’s a short little thing whose blooms peek from behind the leaves, and it’s one of those little plants that take root in expanses of municipal grass and never get paid much attention to, except when people are griping about all the weeds. I’ve always found the weeds to be the most interesting part of a lawn. Endless grass is dead boring. I like the subversive little somethings that break up the monotony.
Often times, they have lovely little flowers. There are times during the year here when lawns that aren’t regularly attacked with weed killer become quilts of colors – white and yellow and purple and pink and blue, some larger, some smaller, all lovely – except to those who have it out for things that aren’t boring old grass.
Later in summer, when there hasn’t been rain for two months and the cost of watering all that thirsty grass is prohibitive, the patchwork of weeds is often the only green in an expanse of dead grass. Ha! Take that, grass! You aren’t adapted for this climate. So there. Pffft.
You also don’t have exquisite little purple flowers and furry purple-green leaves. Double-pffft.
Oh. Oh, dear. This is me insulting grass directly. I think it’s a sign I’ve been working too hard. I should go don some armor and blow on the kitteh’s tummy until I’m refreshed and ready to tackle blogging again without taunting domesticated plants…