Now I will admit that meadows tend to be a little unkempt,
but for those of us who love them, that's part of their appeal. Poet Marge Piercy writes "My garden's a chapel, but a meadow gone wild in grass and flower is a cathedral," and while it's possible that not everyone will appreciate her religious metaphor, meadows are certainly among the liveliest of places. Even Susan's meadow, only a few hundred feet from a busy highway and part of a park visited by hundreds (if not thousands--it's a popular place) of people every day, was humming with insect life and brimming with birds.
Meadows also have their own beauty, especially when they abut woods, allowing the wanderer to experience the contrast of light and shade.
Light on grass has become one of my favorite sights, and this was a good morning for it as the fields of purpletop were in full bloom.
If a person can take time with a meadow, the tangled mess of "grass and weeds" (as a relative once described a meadow garden) can reveal surprises.
heliopsis in bloom
a male black swallowtail nectaring on thistle
and a flash of blue that turned out to be
fringed gentian, a plant I knew from William Cullen Bryant's poem but had never actually seen.
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