First, it has rained without stop for nearly a week. Spring rain has blessed the turf and the weeds.
Mowing has not been an option except on a one-day respite. Right on time the sun shined. I mowed.
I almost mowed my current inspiration –the flowers and the volatile green growth of weeds.
I was spellbound by the multitude of shining shades and the subtle water-fed colors of weeds. They are quite beautiful.
No, I must be about the mowing. The rains return tomorrow according to the Weather Channel™.
By definition a weed is “a plant not valued for its use or beauty”. So if I love them for their colorful foliage, tender shades, and gentle contrasts do they cease to be ‘weeds’?
When the form of weeds and the tableaus of tiny blossoms as in a wild garden capture my imagination am I no longer the care-taker of the property to which I exert my rights?
I like the way the veins in their leaves and the rose hues remind me of chard. How the tiny trefoil leaves suggest clover but sprout miniature yellow daisy-like blossoms. I like that sort of surprise.
I snapped one, two, and then a half-dozen pictures, just for color sketches I remind myself. I prepared four panels for painting.
The rain falls on the just and the unjust.
And the merely inspired.