A poem and an Australian native plant photo.
Is a nondescript plant unworthy of the lingering gaze?
Must the ugly duckling metamorphise
into that beautiful swan? Does a light shine
with none to see it, invisible when eyes are closed?
The winter woodland keeps its secrets. Echo
chambers climb from forest floor until – tendril –
summer’s fertile heat provides the desiccant,
the bluffer and ephemera of nature’s final call.
I read a recent disparaging comment about the lovely Australian native climber, Clematis microphylla. Perhaps you are yet to discover it or if you have, perhaps you have been underwhelmed? Be patient, dear Readers, and look again.