Thursday, September 20, 2007
Many Rustling Moons
Today, while I was planting Black Eyed Susans, a rustling caught my ear; a plant-ish "Ahem....excuse me..."
I turned to see a volunteer group of Lunaria, whispering "We are ready."
They were already stiff and brittle with age, bereft of every leaf. I gathered them carefully, able to be all the more gentle because the stems were no longer even lightly attached to anything earthly.
As far as I know, there is no "earthly" purpose for Lunaria. It serves me well never the less. In summer the rich purple blooms set a glow over the tops of my still young herbs. In Autumn, the seed pods turn from green to brown to mottled gray - almost tweedy. Except that they shelter seeds, they too are useless. The day that I decide it's time to sit at the table and "shell" the Lunaria, I find their use. As I carefully ease the two thin shells off and see the seeds drop to the plate in front of me, I find myself almost in a meditative state. I'm focused only on the act of carefully shelling the seeds, and seeing the tissue of moon glow left where the seeds were nurtured.
The finish leaves me with a plate of money seeds (I think they are the reason for its common name)
And a pile of empty papery shells,
so like the shells that I just put away at Summer's end that I am thinking of saving the papery shells in a basket, for decoration.
A basket of autumn shells
A packet of promise, seeds for the future
And a vase of many rustling moons.