Wee Books and Garden Giggles

Nature’s mood swings are warming up. We’ve been dancing between low 80s and rain. We like it. And yes, by “we” I mean me. And, perhaps, my amaryllis’ seedpod, who seems to delight in the pleasure that is getting her hair washed.

she trusted
my hand to hold her
wilted hair

 

My youngest oak seems to be enjoying the rain, too. Really. It went from zero leaves to seven practically overnight. The frog that shares the pot with the oak has been pondering about the nature of quick growth (and of blushing leaves).

the frog smirks,
while the witch watches
oak leaves blush

 

I, on the other hand, know exactly why the oak leaves are blushing *cough*:

Flower-lovers do it in the garden.

 

Since I’m certain that dearest Marcus Tullius Cicero was correct, in saying that “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need”, I thought I should show you the wee treasure I got in one of my secondhand books/thrift shop hunts. It’s an English-Spanish Spanish English dictionary set from 1967. When first published, the miniature tomes (approximately 2” x 3”) cost $1.50. I found myself roaring like the wild old-book-loving maniac that I am, when I noticed the 2018 price was $1.49. Yep, the price went down 1¢ in 51 years.

 

What sort of book-loving-plant-adoring mad witchy writer woman would I be, if I published a post about gardens and English-Spanish Spanish-English books without sharing the page that shows the word “garden” in Spanish? Here it is:

Yes, my Wicked Luvs… I, too, blinked thrice when I read the 2nd page. I’ve no idea why the word judía means both green bean and Jewish female in Spanish.

Edited 5/23/18 at 4:05 pm: So, my Wicked Luvs, I went to my trusty Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase & Fable, and found this: “Arbor Judæ, said to be so called because Judas Iscariot hanged himself thereon. This is one of those word-resemblances so delusive to etymologists. Judæ is the Spanish judía (a French bean), and Arbor Judæis a corruption of Arbol Judia (the bean-tree), so called from its bean-like pods.” Isn’t language the most alluring of wondrous beasts?

 

To Warm Me

She is a monster waiting to swallow the world. Really. Look at her (maw at the ready, lips as sharp as blades) waiting to bloom into something bright and beautiful that promises to take your breath away. Fine, so she will keep you from breathing by being all stunning and stuff, but your brain will still starve for air… um, I might’ve taken this metaphor a bit too far *cough*.
Anyhoo, from this angle, doesn’t my amaryllis look like a glorious monster about to swallow something whole? At first, I wondered if she was working with Cthulhu, but… no tentacles. So, she’s probably a free (freaky) agent.

Yes, my Wicked Luvs, you are correct. This is how my plants and I survive winter (and those long…….. periods between recovering/healing and more medical procedures to come—we birth tales, giggle and cackle at wondrous (if silly) things. All right, I tell the tales. But my plants are great listeners.

to warm me and mine,
I (will) spring stories
out of snow in March

in my urban woods,
limbs stiff but spread wide, I wait
for the kiss of spring