Dance of the blessed spirits

Crocus speciosus and Erodium chrysanthum

The October flowering of this gigantic, gorgeous crocus almost makes the imminent onset of winter tolerable for wimpy folks like me...As the days get colder, I look and look for the first of the flowers: did they all die? Why are they so late? And late in September the first bud rises like a ballerina from the misty groundcovers....and the show is off and running!

 Can I be so rash as to suggest you click on this Youtube version of Gluck's famous Dance of the Blessed Spirits: I'm listening to it now, and the lilting melody really does complement the visual dance of these goblet flowers. There is an additional plangeant harmony to the tune however. This wonderful (and quite enormous) stand of the autumn crocus is growing in the nearly perfect garden of a friend who died a few weeks ago. They, and her garden, capture so much of the gentleness and beauty of her own blessed spirit.

Flowers are really like the eyes of the earth. And these crocuses looking up so innocently, unaware that the woman who wanted them, who planted and nourished them will never see them again. And the future of this garden (like the gardens of all people who pass away) is anything but secure. The new owners may scrape and rebuild, wiping everything out in a fell blow. Or it can languish and smother under a carpet of weeds and neglect. Or (miracle of miracles) a true gardener may buy the house and cherish and maintain this nearly perfect garden.

This is only one small section of the rock garden--crocuses are scattered hither and yon--everywhere in this garden. I'm a tad jealous--I have dozens too. But not hundreds like this. They look good in numbers. I imagine Sally (the gardener was Sally Boyson) coming out every day other years--and these and the garden did much to charm and beguile her spirits and her increasingly afflicted body.

Dance on, ye blessed spirits, dusted I'm told with some of the ashes of the woman who lured you here--and maybe some of her diaphanous spirit is wafting and dancing along with you.