Magnificent Fluff

Gossamer is fragile. Fluff–it would appear–is everywhere, as tenacious as lint on black polyester.

I only say this because I’m currently re-thinking my obsession with photography.

This is just a hobby for me, of course. An easy one. So easy, in fact, that I’m wondering (at least in my case) if it has begun to replace the ability to describe things in words. Everyday, awesome, extraordinary things. A quivering water droplet on a leaf is my siren song, the sight of which is sure to have me reaching for my “phone” aka camera. For such it has become….a camera as opposed to a phone. Or, perhaps it is more correct to call it a device?

I rarely talk on said device, and use actual words or human speech to express myself. From what I hear, I am not alone in this. Instead, I take pictures, and share them. Pictures are worth a thousand words, right?

I’m beginning to think I want my thousand words back.

Texting is a ‘thing’, of course, but there one abbreviates excessively to the nazi will of spell check which wants us to make diminished vocabulary choices. And it is easier to click on the substitution suggested than to thumb-wrestle a pre-set for dominance. Or perhaps I shall switch out an emoji for my increasingly brief expressions–? (this also helpfully suggested). Emojis—which are not actually pictures. They are representations of words, emotions, and thoughts.

The other day I was looking out the kitchen window feeling the typical response of amused annoyance that ensues when watching the busy squirrel population in our yard. They are all cheek-stuffed complacency and vigilant bossiness, making extreme self-absorption look almost lovable. They are so very photogenic, and so elusive. I began to wonder… why is it important that I get this ultimate picture of their cuteness? Are there not enough squirrel pictures in the world? Are we not fully informed via digital images of the adorable obnoxiousness that squirrels possess? Or, as at that moment, when one was silhouetted in bright autumn sunlight, his tail a quivering mass of fluffy radiance—why should I be tantalized with a picture I wanted to capture, knowing full well that as soon as I moved the screen door a fraction of an inch he would be gone? Showing absolutely no appreciation for the tubs of sunflower seed I have shoveled in his behalf?

More ephemeral than a water droplet.

The need for words at that moment almost took my breath away. A haiku came to mind. (feebly…but a start). There is no accompanying picture of a squirrel silhouetted beautifully in sunlight, I’m sorry to say. You will just have to imagine how lovely it was.

Magnificent fluff
Radiating sass and sun
Bright arc of query


A friend of mine has been reading the book by Susan G. Wooldridge, pictured here; she highly recommended it to me, and it will be joining my library soon. I love the idea of getting back to ‘naming things’. Identify it new, for yourself. Explain it. Describe it richly or simply. But savor it.

Turn fluff into gossamer.

“Poems arrive. They hide in feelings and images, in weeds and delivery vans, daring us to notice and give them form with our words. They take us to an invisible world where light and dark, inside and outside meet.”
Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words

Note: Daily Post today has fluff today as a word prompt; normally when I think of fluff I think of gossamer, today I was thinking of squirrels. But if you’re interested in these subjects as related to gossamer and autumn photography, or the literary aspect of gossamer–i.e. Virginia Woof, Selborne and Gilbert White, I’ve provided you with links below:

A Quest for Gossamer

Gossamer Abundant

Odysseus Was Just Here (plus a haiku)

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That one perfect drop
Shimmers with just a sweet trace
Of yesterday’s sun

Last night I strolled through the garden, enjoying the air freshened from the rain, the golden light of pre-dusk, and the intense scattering of water droplets.

In a fanciful mood, and with a glass of scotch in hand, one might call to mind history’s greatest criers, in fact and fiction. You could imagine, for example, that the mighty Odysseus had just wandered, (brooding) through the garden previous to my own visit, shedding his epic tears; lamenting his lost friends.

‘His eyes never dry, his sweet life flowing away with tears…’ [Odyssey, Book V]

Or that Dorothy Parker had just wafted past, weeping while exuding brilliantly tragic commentary, (she, crying, while everyone else is laughing delightedly at her wit) trailing long, drifty caftan sleeves and drinking gin. The largest, most lustrous rain droplets would surely have been her tears.

In truth, yesterday’s rainstorm left ‘tears’ of the happiest kind. Here are a few pictures I took in the early evening.

One Frond, Unfurling

One frond, unfurling
Bright fern, quiet uncurling
Winter undoing

The world outside is nudging us awake. The nearby woods, the wetlands, the ferns…the daffodils….those sweetly voiced robins…they are getting on with business, and what a delightful business it is!

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I have a particular interest in the unfurling of ferns. There is, perhaps, nothing else that better speaks to an awakening after winter than this welcome sight in the woods.  The first glimpse of that lovely, buoyant green appearing above the tops of decay is a burst of fresh happiness.

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My own winter sleep went a bit longer than I’d planned, and was, dare we say…unscheduled. A well-stocked library is always a good place for hibernating, especially when one is immersed in the 12th century. Or Jane Austen’s footwear. Or the 18th dynasty of Somewhere Grand. Or pondering the mystery of one’s own great grandmother. Or toying with the idea of becoming conversant in glottal stops and fricatives just for fun, only to realize it’s not that fun.

Remember Frances Theodora Parsons? I’m enjoying her book a great deal for its quaint tone as much for its vigorous encomiums of the lowly fern, and before I know it I’m thoroughly immersed in her world of silvery spleen-worts, adder’s tongues, bulblet bladders and fruiting fronds. She was a champion, you could say, of this often overlooked species.

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She quotes a great deal from Thoreau–being terribly fond of him–and I enjoyed these words, as I always enjoy a bit of ‘thither-ness’ with my morning coffee:

‘It is no use to direct our steps to the woods if they do not carry us thither. I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in  spirit.’ — Thoreau

 

Be not alarmed–these pictures of ferns and ‘moss-worts’ are from my own backyard, where I was quite present in the moment. We are a little behind in the unfurling stage, it is true, but I hope to bring you more pictures in a few days of the ‘big, woolly croziers‘, as Frances Theodora Parsons calls them with such affection.

Stay tuned, as we awaken and unfurl. The young lady responsible for many of the meticulous drawings in Parson’s books––as well as the riveting “descriptions of the Woodwardias“––Marion Satterlee; is a fascinating young lady in her own right. I’ll be sharing a bit more of her writing and art in coming posts.

Welcome back.