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136
My Studio Neighbors
·
W. Hamilton Gibson
121
THE
MILKWEED
The
singular
hospitality
of
our
milkweed
blossom
is
nowhere
matched
among
Flora's
minions,
and
would
seem
occasionally
in
need
of
supervision.
Just
outside
the
door
here
at
my
country
studio,
almost
in
touch
of
its
threshold,
year
after
year
there
blooms
a
large
clump
of
milkweed
(Asclepias
cornuta),
and,
what
with
the
fragrance
of
its
purple
pompons
and
the
murmurous
music
of
its
bees,
its
fortnight
of
bloom
is
not
permitted
to
be
forgotten
for
a
moment.
Only
a
moment
ago
a
whiff
of
more
than
usual
redolence
from
the
open
window
at
which
I
am
sitting
reminded
me
that
the
flowers
were
even
now
in
the
heyday
of
their
prime,
and
the
loud
droning
music
betokened
that
the
bees
were
making
the
most
of
their
opportunities.
Yielding
to
the
temptation,
I
was
soon
standing
in
the
midst
of
the
plants.
The
purple
fragrant
umbels
of
bloom
hung
close
about
me
on
all
sides,
each
flower,
with
its
five
generous
horns
of
plenty,
drained
over
and
over
again
by
the
eager
sipping
swarm.
But
the
July
sun
is
one
thing
to
a
bee
and
quite
another
thing
to
me.
I
have
lingered
long
enough,
however,
to
witness
again
the
beautiful
reciprocity,
and
to
realize
anew,
with
awe
and
reverence,
how
divinely
well
the
milkweed
and
the
bee
understand
each
other.
After
a
brief
search
among
the
blossom
clusters
I
return
to
my
seclusion
with
a
few
interesting
specimens,
which
may
serve
as
a
text
here
at
my
desk
by
the
open
window.
Marker
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Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
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