thistle husks bristle tall and crisp. On the other side of winter’s rains, fallen seeds will come alive, tendrils rise and lush green stalks offer up bulbs as big as your hand and burst open with the most seductive eye-shadow you’ve seen. It’s unearthly, the violet blue that unfolds from those fists. Today as I approached on a bike, I stopped for a pic. For years, my running gate has been slowed with the allure of this patch. Just up the hill from here is where Janey and I harvested pasture patties in fifteen large black garbage bags and stored them in our garage. Another story.
HJ Brennan, A Work in Progress 