Saturday, May 8, 2010

Study in Contrasts

As I drove by this old house in Stafford, I was struck by the irony.

Here's this old, ramshackle house. It appears that it was death by smoke or fire.

And yet, at the base of this blackened hull, there are copious bowers of spirea.

If only the vivid white of the spirea could be splashed on the grayish boards of the house for a whitewash revival.

This week's ode to spring is the white blossoms of the spirea. Like its predecessors of forsythia and redbud trees, the blossoms are prolific this year. No frost nipped the buds, so they are blooming as brilliantly as the fluffy clouds that dot the bluest of springtime skies.

Our backyard spirea bushes were literally buzzing with activity. The bees and the flies are feasting on the nectar. And I glimpsed this butterfly perched for a morning meal.

The butterfly is a flying flower,
The flower a tethered butterfly.
~Ponce Denis Écouchard Lebrun


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