Gardens allow us glimpses of magic.
As in, May I Present! The garden equivalent of a rabbit from a hat, or, "I don't remember planting that." An eight foot sunflower in the herb bed, one year. A forest of Queen Anne's lace in the rose garden, another. Always a surprise!
or...BEST OF ALL....delightful glimpses into the world of other creatures. Some are obvious, like watching the blue jays shove peanuts under your roof shingles, or Gulf Frittilary butterflies playing tag through the passionflower vine.
But the truly magical ones happen when you focus on the most minute of worlds.
One of the best bits of magic, to me, occurred when I was sitting one afternoon next to the Iceberg rose hedge. The blossoms are lovely in a mass, but individually, there's nothing particularly arresting about a spent iceberg flower. That is, unless you are a teeny, teeny wasp.
A bit of sunlight sparked his wing and it caught my eye as he hovered over the center of the rose. Suddenly, I could see through his eyes -- not boring limp petals, but rather a vast ampitheatre of rich golden pollen and nectar!
He hovered another second, perhaps ruling out the presence of danger (praying mantis? housefly?)and then delicately landed into the center of the rose.
I held very still to watch him move from one miniscule stamen to the other, taking his fill of nourishment. What a treasure this was to him!
I was reminded, yet again, of how a garden supports life in ways we don't even imagine. For that infitesimal speck of life, my tattered rosebush was all he needed to keep flying through the vast world of Wasp, to perform his chores. When he moved to the next flower, he pollinated it. A rose hip formed, which fed the mockingbird (or became a nutritious toy for my parrot.)
This is magic.
Joining the party here every Thursday.
