drunk on nettles 'n milkweed

Such a wild time of year. ¹

One minute we're slipping through the dark with glow collars—

the next we’re sleeping through Morning Twilight.²

And the Robins are madly chirping whenever we go out, dark or light.

Not that I’m complaining. I love Robin chat. And last week the extra light helped me notice the frost on A’s milkweed pods—and so remember to bring home a few stalks. And you never know when a few dry sticks will change your life.

The expanding days, and then a cluster of sunny ones—

—also brought out the garden nymphs.³

That was a thing!

For after going wild with loppers and rakes and forks—

—they got drunk on chlorophyll⁴—

—and then drew me into a delirious flirtation with the milkweed.

It was crazy for a while, but who can blame us?

How not to grow giddy while unsnapping our protective coverings—

—shucking off our winter-retted coats—

—brushing up our glossy (if slightly grayer than last summer—

— and now deliciously smooth) selves?⁵

How not, then,

(for a moment)—

to be content—

to be still—

to bask.

Wouldn’t you?⁶

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1. Well, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. In the Southern this equinox heralds the slow arrival of dark. And of course along the equator the length of the day is always about the same. Hard to imagine but so I’ve been told by those who know.

2. In this post I dove into the idea of morning twilight and got to learn (with the help of all your great comments) 1. that the word twilight refers to both morning and evening; 2. that there are three levels of twilight: astronomical, nautical and civil; that creatures who are out at that time are called crepuscular; 3. that in Spanish the twilight is called la madrugada—and a female creature who is out and about in the early hours would be a madrugadora; and 4. that there must be myriad other terms and forms and delicious descriptors from around the world and I want to know more of them. Anyone have one or two to add to the collection?

3. She’s a pretty sturdy looking nymph, the one holding the rake — but who is to say that all nymphs are willowy and sylvan? For that matter, who is to say she is even a nymph—our a she? For all I know they might be a non-binary Sprite. Or a Pixie. Or Coyote, pretending to be helpful before replanting the rampant lemon balm they just dug up and then inviting the neighborhood cats to enjoy the pooping possibilities of this freshly turned soil (though Beryl would have a lot to say about that!). Still, anything is possible with equinoxial shadows.

4. That’s parsley on the left, and fresh nettle tea on the right. So so so so good.

5. It’s Beryl’s brush and the tines are much softer and more flexible than those on hand cards or wool combs (which I’ve used before with mixed success on milkweed), and I must say I was pleased with the result. I don’t know if it is the nature of the brush or the nature of this particular stand of milkweed gathered at this particularly moment, but the brushing both opened up the clumps and brushed away many of the dry bits—all without much breakage—leaving it in lovely shape for future cordage twisting. I’m not trying to make it perfectly smooth as though flax for spinning mind you—the length of the fibers is too varied for that. I just want to be able to easily slip individual strands out of the stick as I work them, one by one, into a length of cordage that some day will be made into something else. Or not. Who knows?

6. During my recent Nearly Wild Weaving Tapestry in Conversation, I was asked what new skill I want to learn. I’m not sure I had a great answer then, but it occurs to me now that the skill I really want to learn is that of being still. Of basking. Of relishing what I’ve just done, or just relishing the sun, or moss, or whatever, without actively doing. Well, maybe spinning or knitting sometimes as they can help me to be still, at least while I’m learning. But you know what I mean. Beryl, too, is an excellent teacher. Are you a good basker? (vs busker or basket, both of which were just offered up to me as alternatives to basking—though both fine things to be).

And speaking of Nearly Wild Weaving, tomorrow (Wednesday the 20th) is another one—Tapestry: In Conversation - with Ragnheiður Björk Þórsdóttir from Iceland. Ill be there and hopefully you will too!