The world had hardly changed
when I planted twenty-five seeds,
each one a dry husk from which the vibrancy of life would spring. I waited,
willing the first shoots to spike through the soil, hoping the slugs and snails
would find other sources of nutrition. Within a month, green plants began to take
shape, bearing stems that became umbrella handles underneath a ring of miniature leaves.
Some days raindrops pattered down
from brooding skies. A few bounced off the seedlings: others landed on the
leaves and became tiny snow-globes of life. As rainbows gave way to bursts of
sunshine, the plants grew and began to develop a range of markings. This
morning there were three distinct colour forms; vibrant green, deep kale green,
and mottled green and cream.
Each stalk propels its leaf
towards the light. Each leaf spreads in diameter, providing the perfect wet-weather
shelter for a mouse. I pick a single stem and twiddle it round between index
finger and thumb. I check for signs of butterfly eggs and blackfly, but there
are none. I roll the small leaf and squeeze it, inhaling an earthy draft of
pepper. I am reminded of piquant pasta suppers in last year’s heatwave.
But no
eggs could mean no larvae, which in turn could mean a dearth of white
butterflies.
* * *
This post was written in response to Dr Miriam Darlington's #30DaysWildCreativity meme for Day 17 of #30DaysWild. We were invited to look 'more closely at things growing nearby and see how nourishing they are'.
I love nasturtiums. I even love their skeleton umbrella leaves once the caterpillars have got going. I sowed some seeds in my window boxes but they didn't come up. It's possible the cat sat on them. I think next year I will have to pay them special attention and start them off indoors.
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