An August Palette
Sunflower and Sage
“Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends
into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.”
I equate the monsoon rains to benevolence. A kindness. And if they are absent? A cruelty?
This year the monsoons have been very kind. Abundance is everywhere. Overflowing actually. It's loud and wild. And across the desert, yellow is manifesting, as if painted overnight by a secret hand. Miniature wildflowers sparkle with an intense yellow amidst the ever growing weeds. And heavy-headed sunflowers scream a brilliant yellow as they line the ditches and roadways. This yellowing is a true sign of late summer, but it's also a visual blessing.
And the sage and verbena continue with their ceaseless violet blossoms for a complement that vibrates. Together this combination of yellow and violet creates a palette Van Gogh would envy. A palette that excites the pollinators to a frenzy. The air hums.
And the ground is continual movement. All manner of creatures hurrying about. For over a week, caterpillars in the hundreds, no, maybe thousands, have searched relentlessly for purslane to eat. Purslane is a small succulent plant akin to the Portulaca and the caterpillars leave nothing but the stems in their wake. But it has been plentiful because of the rains. And for the caterpillars, it's a race to begin metamorphosis. A race to become Euscirrhopterus gloveri, the Purslane Moth.
All the hurry and haste, all the seeding and flowering is prompted by a need to continue. Annie Dillard, in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, said, we are appalled by fecundity, this pressure of birth and growth. Maybe not so much with the plant world, but definitely the animal. A field overgrown with sunflowers is quite appealing. Whereas, an over population of crawling, flying, swarming things, leaves us somewhat squeamish.
Still, for sometime now, I have used catch and release mouse traps in the garage. They are a green see-through plastic thing, with a spring door, that leaves them totally unscathed. This season to date, I have caught 36. I used to use the old snap traps, but the the brutality of those mechanisms and the spirits of those tiny creatures began to haunt me at night. I couldn't sleep.
Now I catch them overnight and release them first thing in the morning, out by the juniper tree where the Buddha sits. Most, when freed, just run away quickly into the underbrush. But the other morning, number 36 ran to the Buddha and perched in his lap. He turned briefly to stare at me. What were his tiny black eyes trying to say? Was it gratitude or something I couldn't even comprehend? But for that moment, we saw each other. Two creatures connected.
Our interconnection to everything is knowable. We are a part of the whole. Our sense of separation is only found in our minds, our ego. We need not look far to see our connection and its influence. Our world speaks to us. Weather patterns speak loudly to us now, everywhere. All Nature speaks loudly now.
So, is this an essay on climate change? Of course. Is it an essay on responsibility and compassion? Most assuredly. But it is also a treatise on wonder and resiliency. Three months ago this desert was dry and seemingly lifeless. Now, it is the picture life, of abundance. The world around us is speaking. Are we willing to listen?
All Nature quickens now.