"Fiery Cauldrons"
Rose Hips and Thistles
It’s been a long Indian summer
and the hips are rotting on the beach rose.
I can almost taste their sour skins –
red balls of seeds glistening
like fiery cauldrons in the late September sun;
green tentacles dripping below.
I’m dreaming of exotic gentians,
alpines, delphiniums.
But it’s the last of the flowering thistles
that stand before me
with their decadent helmets and feathers.
I think of Ellen Willmott
secretly scattering thistle seeds
in her neighbours’ gardens,
spreading pieces of herself – a legacy, to grow
and grow again when her body
is lowered to feed the earth
in a last great act of love.
~ Marion McCready
I recognized the author's reference to "Miss Willmott", as the plant called Miss Willmott's Ghost (Eryngium giganteum). I also see that she was quite a horticulturist.
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