Woodland cloaked in white:
invasion of Old Man’s Beard.
Whisker trimming time.
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As someone who can’t resist sharing offbeat historical facts, I learned today that the French name for old man’s beard is ‘herbe aux gueux’ (the rascal’s or beggar’s herb).
Apparently, beggars used to rub the acrid sap from this plant on themselves to give their skin a sore and ulcerated appearance, so that passers-by would pity them and cough up donations of money, food, or clothing.
Early this morning, a force eight gale chucked drizzle about, slammed gates, broke fences, snapped branches off trees, and threw refuse bins about. To counteract the melancholy that threatened me at sight and sound of the mayhem, I donned my favourite bright pink raincoat and took my dog on an energising walk.
Immediately we returned home, the wind dropped, the sun came out, and it seemed I’d even managed to cheer up the weather with my dazzling gear! This led me to wonder if people call bright pink “shocking pink” because it shocks them out of their gloom.
Seeing how this colour has had such a positive effect upon me up today, I’ve decided to share two tanka poems: one new and one old (both related to pink), as well as some random photos of pink flowers.
~Artificial light~
Reflection of hydrangeas
in dark window glass.
After midnight, party girls
stagger home, petals faded.
Metallic winter
enhanced by rhododendrons
— rejuvenation –
an old woman with grey hair
wearing neon pink lipstick.
Bay shrouded in mist
Lost New Year’s resolutions
Sun fights to break through
~ Crow community ~
Still, silent, watching, aligned
barbed-wire sentinels.
On wild hilltops
lean gnarled trees tied up in knots,
padlocked by gales.
Sarah Potter Writes 