I think the plants may well know more about the situation than I do. [Hello there.] I’ve suspected it for a while. [Hello?] I mean, only something that silent could be so wise, right? Still waters run deep. That sort of thing. [Hello, can you hear us?] But it was only today that I realised they’re actually trying to communicate. [Aha, at last! We thought for a minute there we […]
Archive | November, 2017
Emily Bowles | Plant poems
My Weeding. I Mean, Wedding Linnaean botany was, at first, a suitable subject for women, whose botanical drawings became part of their parlor-room portfolio. A skillful hand could replicate each line. Replication is too much like reproduction, especially when pistils and stamen are labeled, especially when pencils and stories are libeled. I am not a gardener. I am not an artist. Like the ladies in those libraries, I hold a […]
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