Unknown Gossamer

The rains brought a few days coolness to our region, allowing walks during the daylight hours. Plants bristled with joy with the rain. I took the opportunity to play with my mum's camera with it's macro-lens. 

This plant - which grows in abundance along the road near us - was a delight to photograph. The soft gossamer seeds, the spiky case, the way the wind pulls at the light seeds. I've taken photos of the plant before, but have been unable to get the sharp definition of the seeds. 

There is a strong satisfaction in finally capturing what the eye sees - and then some. I've found that as I upload the photos to my computer details turn up that I never noticed at the time. Sometimes it will be a trailing spider web - sometimes a lady bug or other small beastsie.

I don't know what this plant is - whether it's introduced or indigenous (I need to do an extensive google - my ignorance is preying on me). I know that it is found in abundance along the roadside near us - particularly along the part where there is a low-lying area that turns to a swamp and marsh with the infrequent rain. 

I love the story seen in one image. Softness, lightness, the promise of new beginnings, all protected in the spiky case, before the wind blows the seeds away, to find a place to come to ground, settle roots, sprout, and burgeon into new life. 

Hazy--Down

Soft evening light, and the seeds before the wind takes them away. Ephemeral, ditch growers, they never fail to enchant me. 

 

Red Rose

This Rose is called 'A Father's Gift' - above it is caught in early morning dew. Below, it is hung with rain drops. We missed the deluge those further south received - our dams are still empty, but we rejoiced in the rain we did get. 

 

Roses - with dew & rain

My rose obsession, combined with a new camera with a micro-lease, and a heavy dewfall has resulted in an overload or roses. 

One of my favourite authors, Robin McKinley wrote two novels based on the fairytale beauty and the beast (Beauty and then Rose Daughter) and they are both love songs to roses and rose growing. I completely understand how it happened! 

 

Raindrops

 

Rain is forecast for the next week. Already we have had patches of drizzle and a few blessedly cooler days. 

The world around is becoming green tinged, and plants are growing vigorously, making the most of the rain while it lasts. 

Recently I took photos of the raindrops caught on leaves in our garden - on the lushly green grape and passionfruit that entwine over our small undercover area, on my beloved rose, on a hibiscus that is mundane in ordinary light - magical illuminated and dew-hung.  I could almost feel the joy of the plants as they drank in the cool and the moisture. The droplets intrigued me with their beauty, the way they held light, reflections. 

It seems this year it is the small things, the in-your-face ephemeral things, that are catching my attention. 

Yesterday I walked the dogs as the sun rose and the light upon a field of overgrown grass and weeds gilded a multitude of spiders webs strung with drew. I only had my phone - the phone camera didn't do it justice. It is the way the light catches on grass seeds, the beauty in a drop of dew, in the small lives of the teaming micro world of insects that fascinates me. 

My mum visits soon - a short weeks visit that will hopefully not lead to quarantine or isolation -  she's bringing her micro-lens and I am so looking forward to capturing even more intricate and tiny details. 

For now I wait eagerly for the cool of the setting sun and the gentle glow of last-light, to see how it will fall on the vigorous, chaotic weeds of the road verge, with all their contrasts of spikes, thorns, prickles and down of thistle and dandelion, so soft and lovely it looks as if it were made to line the cradles of Thumbelina sized fae-folk.