beautiful bones

all of the flesh melted away from these poppy seed heads, and left behind the architecture and framing. they are as shapely and beautiful as a perfect skeleton. who knew those pretty red flowers had such character beneath their perfect skin?

poppy winter seed heads

the great wave off turtle lake

these snow laden grass seed heads remind me of the hokusai print of the great wave off kanagawa, as part of his thirty-six views of mount fuji. i may never reach his level of obsessive power, but i sometimes think of myself as chronicling thirty-six or so different views of each upper midwestern species of flora. he spent 60 years making paintings and prints. i’ve been at STILL blog for six. i’ve got some more obsessing to do yet.

snow covered prairie tall grass

turtle lake, shoreview, minnesota

take 2

yesterday i mentioned the human flesh eating demogorgons of “stranger things” season 2, but now, from the side they take on a whole new life as chameleon tongues engulfing grasshoppers (google chameleon tongues and you’ll know what i mean).

iris stems and seed pods

the power of suggestion

for most of my adult life i would have looked at this photo and thought about a nest full of awkwardly adorable fledglings squawking at their parents, begging for an insect or a bit of worm. now i’ve made the terrible mistake of letting my 14 year old talk me into season two of “stranger things,” and all i can see is a black hell populated by demogorgons hungry for the flesh of my family. thanks, duffer brothers.

iris seed pods

minneapolis, minnesota

prozac

during the tax filing season, when my husband is in his office 12 hours a day, and his tax clients come filing through every hour and a half, i sometimes start dinner in the middle of the afternoon, in order to fill the house with a little moist heat and some hearth smells. based on this experience, i can’t tell you how universally the smell of sauteeing garlic and onions works as a human tranquilizer. no one is ever that happy to be coming to do their taxes. yet almost every time, they step in out of the cold, smell garlic, onions, and olive oil, and soften visibly. they just stand inside the front door, and spend a second or two in the moment, aware of the beautiful smell. then they always ask, “what are you cooking?” “prozac,” i say. “i’m cooking prozac.”

garlic

saint paul farmers market, minnesota