#grass-leaved goldenrod

[vandaliatraveler]

Walk with me: Mid-summer hike through a Central Appalachian forest. As summer hurtles toward its final explosive act, the forest's living things embrace urgent, primordial impulses triggered by shrinking daylight: to bloom, to seed, to feed, and to reproduce before the killing frost of Autumn shocks the earth into hibernation. In the deep forest, the fetid perfume of decaying fungi signals the countdown has begun. From top: a bumblebee traversing the fanning pink flowers of hollow-stemmed Joe-Pye weed (Eutrochium fistulosum); the maturing red stem and flowers of seedbox (Ludwigia alternifolia), also known as rattlebox and square-pod water-primrose, a very attractive wetlands annual with four-sided seed capsules; cowbane (Oxypolis rigidior), also known as common water dropwort, a delicate, marsh-loving member of the carrot family that also happens to be toxic; Allegheny hawkweed (Hieracium paniculatum), also known as panicled hawkweed, a spindly-stemmed member of the dandelion tribe; the lovely and hallucinogenic fly agaric (Amanita muscaria); a sprawling colony of sulphur shelf fungus (Laetiporus sulphureus), an edible delicacy otherwise known as chicken of the woods; a red eft (Notophthalmus viridescens); white wood aster (Eurybia divaricata); a twin set of common puffballs (Lycoperdon perlatum); the fungal version of suburban sprawl courtesy of orange moss agaric (Rickenella fibula); a gelatinous serving of orange witches' butter (Dacrymyces chrysospermus); a fiery clump of eastern Jack-o-lanterns (Omphalotus illudens); a potter wasp (Ancistrocerus campestris) drinking from the clumped white flowers of virgin's bower (Clematis virginiana); one of my all-time favorite critters, a locust borer (Megacyllene robiniae), taking its nectar fill from flat-top goldentop (Euthamia graminifolia), also known as grass-leaved goldenrod; a green metallic sweat bee (Augochloropsis ?) finding sustenance from parasol white-top (Doellingeria umbellata var. umbellata), also known as flat-top aster; and the intricate purple flowers of tall ironweed (Vernonia gigantea).

[indigrassy]

Gold on gold on goldentops

[emh-photos-art]

Photo set contains a macro shot of goldenrod, and then a landscape photo with goldenrod flowers.

[spatheandspadix]

Mid-September ridgetop hayfield flora:

White snakeroot, late boneset, wingstem

Pearly everylasting, grass-leaved goldenrod, chicory

Thistle, wild carrot, horse nettle

Common milkweed, honey locust

[oliversrarebooks]

get lost

a story about hapless wanderers and the fairy that collects them

Masterlist

TW: mind control, drugging, restraints, captivity, hypnosis, non-sexual touching and manhandling, condescension

You are lost.

Maybe you decided to go for a hike that was above your skill level. Maybe you wandered into the woods behind your suspiciously cheap vacation rental. Maybe you woke up here among the thick undergrowth. You might not even remember how you ended up here.

But you know for sure you are lost.

Any hint of a path has long been swallowed by roots and branches, moss and weeds. You might have some supplies, but they're not nearly enough to spend a significant amount of time lost in the forest. The trees are even so thick overhead that you can't reliably tell the direction of the sun, if you even knew which direction might help.

The only thing you can do is to keep trudging, hoping that eventually you'll get somewhere.

The more you climb over thick roots and rotten logs, the more you wade through tall grasses, the more exhausted you're becoming. Your calf muscles ache. Your arms are scratched and stung from twigs and rough bark and bugs. You're so tired. But you know you can't stop for long if you hope to get out of the forest before nightfall. It can't be that much further, can it?

You pause for just a moment to lean against a tree, taking a deep breath. The smell of green leaves and damp earth fills your senses, both pleasant and oppressive. This time, you think you sense something else. It smells almost sweet, like flowers or candy. It's different. And while you're not sure it will help, you feel drawn to it.

As you stumble further into the forest, you notice more and more flowers growing thick around you. Scatterings of clover and goldenrod are giving way to larger, more exotic blooms, in stunning jewel-tone colors. Even as the forest gets deeper and darker, you see more and more of the flowers, surrounding you, and the scent of sweet nectar and pollen grows stronger. It makes you feel woozy, almost drowsy, but you can't stop now. You need to keep going. 

You wonder vaguely how such large flowers can grow in a place with little sunlight. The flowers hanging from the branches and swaying in front of you are nearly as big as your entire face. They sway softly in a breeze you can't feel, and you watch them, transfixed in wonder. They're beautiful. And they smell so good.

You don't notice when your feet stop moving. You barely notice when something warm snakes around your ankles.

The flowers sparkle and shimmer and sway in front of you, and you sway too, dazed. A cloud of yellow engulfs your vision and you cough softly as your head fills with pollen. You feel so sleepy, so deeply drowsy, as though you'd like to lay down and take a nap, just rest your eyes for only a minute...

No, you can't stop here. You're lost, and the forest is dangerous. You muster up what strength remains to you to try and take a step back, only to realize that your legs are halfway wrapped in vines, holding you firmly in place. Your feeble struggles cause you to lose balance, and more vines catch you, wrapping around your chest and arms.

Your limbs are already heavy and numb from the sedating pollen, and your weak thrashes against the vines holding you captive do nothing to free you. Just as you start to panic, your mind trying to reassert itself against the numbing influences, the flowers appear before you again, distracting you with their colors. They're starting to blur, your vision fogging. You're getting sleepy, all of your fight draining from your body. You yawn involuntarily, taking in more pollen. You're fighting a losing battle against your heavy, drooping eyelids.

As your mind starts to slip into a drugged, half-awake daze, you're vaguely aware that the vines are pulling you against a tree and restraining you firmly but comfortably. You can hardly move an inch now, but you're becoming less and less inclined to try. It's so much effort to resist, when you could just fall into a dozing dream, relaxed and comfortable and so drowsy.

One of the flowers is growing closer, engulfing your entire vision. You feel the soft petals brush your cheek, the scent of sweet pollen and nectar intense as the flower seals around your face. The dim spark of consciousness that remains to you recognizes this as the final step in the trap: it's going to put you to sleep. You know now it's aware of what it's doing, and it's going to incapacitate you, make you sleep so deeply, helpless and unaware, vulnerable to whatever or whoever set this trap in the first place.

There's nothing you can do about it but take a deep breath. You're so comfortable and sleepy, and your eyelids are beginning to flutter, too heavy to keep open. You relax into the vines. Everything's starting to feel so floaty and far away, and it's so nice to feel your pain and fear flowing out of you. Every breath smells like flowers. Every breath pulls your eyelids down, coaxing you into a gentle, easy slumber. You're too tired and dazed to fight it, to even remember why you wanted to fight it. It's so much nicer to stop moving, to shut your eyes, to let the gentle flowers and vines lull you into sleep.

You skim the edge of sleep, and your dreams are filled with the forest, but you're not lost any more. You belong to it. You're part of the moss on the trees and the breeze ruffling the flowers and the ants marching in a neat line. Your mind relaxes, defenses lowering, as the wind and the  trees whisper to you in words you don't understand.

You don't know how long you sleep, but eventually you feel someone pulling at the vines holding you in place, the light pressure on your body loosening. You fall forward into warm arms, blinking slowly, dazed and just barely awake.

"There, there, I've got you," says a voice like flowing water, washing over you. "Just relax. You're safe."

You have questions, but your tongue is too thick to speak and your mind too drowsy to formulate them. "What...?" you manage.

"Shhh, hush, now. I'm going to take good care of you." 

You're being picked up in a strong grip, and you feel yourself being carried away, the meager light around you dimming as you're brought into an even deeper part of the forest. Your helpless body is laid down on soft grass and moss, propped up against a tree, and you sink into it, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.

A face appears in front of you, shining in the dim light. The eyes sparkle and the mouth smiles, but you can tell instinctively it is not human. 

The strange being sits back and begins to play on a set of panpipes, a low, haunting tune. Its form is difficult to make out, youthful and humanoid but not clearly male nor female, and you can see sparkling, deep blue wings like those of a butterfly. A fairy, perhaps -- that's the closest thing your mind offers. It seems clad only in flowers, ribbons, and strings of beads, which flutter slightly in the breeze. 

It's so hard to think, to even remember how you came to be here, and the music is slowly but surely stealing your focus away. The song is so beautiful, and you're completely relaxed and calm, not at all inclined to move, much less escape. Increasingly less inclined to think too hard about any of this. The air around you seems to sparkle as your vision blurs, your eyes blinking so, so slowly. 

Through your haze you see the fairy smile, looking down at you. You smile back weakly. It stops playing -- although the music continues to tie your mind in binds -- and kneels beside you. It tilts your chin up with the softest of touches, their fingers like sunbeams, and gaze into your glassy eyes.

"What's your name, little one?"

Your name spills from your mouth, and the fairy laughs with a sound like bells.

"Of course it is. You're such a silly little thing, running away from me, aren't you?"

Running away? Your brow furrows. Even in your entranced state, that doesn't seem quite right, does it...?

"You don't even remember why you ran away, did you?" The fairy ruffles your hair affectionately. "It's an awfully good thing I found you before you hurt yourself. You were like a helpless moth, flapping uselessly against a spider web."

"I didn't..." You're trying to collect your thoughts enough to explain why that's wrong. "I didn't run away from you," you finish weakly.

"No?" It leans in closer, eyes far too bright. "Then how did you get here?"

Your mouth opens and closes.

The fairy traces a finger along your cheek, just under your eye. "Can you remember?"

You can't. Your mind is still full of fog and pollen and everything feels like a blur. "...I was lost," you manage.

"Yes, you were," it says with a predatory grin. "And now you're found, but you don't even remember that you belong to me. Poor dandelion fluff." It produces a long, iridescent ribbon from seemingly nowhere, holding it up in front of you. "But don't worry, I'm not mad. I know you can't help it. Your head's just so full of flowers that there's no room for anything hard, like memories."

You'd like to protest, but that seems right somehow. Doesn't it?

"Here, let me put your collar back on." It ties the ribbon in a bow around your neck, and you're too relaxed to stop it. The ribbon feels silky smooth and weightless, and the fairy wraps one end around its wrist. That feels right, too, like something long forgotten locking into place. "Let's get you home, little moth."

It picks you up effortlessly once again, and your limbs are too heavy and numb to do anything more but lean against it. In the blink of an eye, you're flying. The soft, rhythmic wingbeats fill your ears and soothe you as the fairy somehow glides effortlessly through the thick tangles of branches and vines.

You come to a stop at a darkened clearing filled with enormous mushrooms, large enough to sit on and pulsating with soft blue-purple light. There are beads and ribbons and trinkets hanging from every tree branch. In the dim light you can see the sparkle of many colored crystals, and, off to one side, there seems to be a pile of people huddled on top of the mushrooms. Humans, like you, all in various states of undress, with their skin painted in wild, rainbow hues. All of them seem fast asleep.

Before you have a chance to wonder if this is the fate that awaits you, you're laid out onto a bed of soft mushroom, your ribbon-leash tied to a tree. You try to push yourself up and look around, but your head feels dizzy and your arms are heavy and uncoordinated. The fairy pulls your pack from your back and pushes you down gently. You watch as it rifles through your things, tossing this and that to the side, running its fingers down the rough paper of your sketchbook, using your pens to mark its hands, clicking your flashlight on and off, before tossing it all into a pile of other backpacks.

"Drink." The fairy is holding out a small clay cup of unnaturally bright red liquid. "You must be thirsty, little moth. Drink."

You swallow hard. Your throat and lips are dry, but the last remnant of your reason is warning you with all its might. "What is it?" you ask.

"Medicine, silly thing. Medicine to open your mind. Medicine to help you accept. Medicine to soothe you to slumber."

You manage to shake your head. "I don't want that."

The fairy smiles, the shimmering red liquid reflected in its impossibly large eyes, and speaks your name. It sounds like water rushing down a mountain, like fire consuming a forest.

It holds out the cup once more, and your hands reach to take it, unable to stop yourself from drinking. The medicine is warm and tastes like sweet berries and slides down your throat like a living thing.

"Foolish little bunny," it says gleefully, and then you feel everything. Slow. Down.

Suddenly, you're hyperaware of everything around you. The mushrooms below you and the cool air around you makes your skin prickle, the beads clinking together overhead sound like a symphony, and you can smell a hundred things you're sure you've never smelled before. It would be utterly overwhelming if you weren't completely relaxed. A butterfly flaps nearby, and you watch its wings sparkle through lazy, half-lidded eyes.

The fairy is in front of you again, holding a tray of little pots of pigment. It dips its fingers into the purple and runs its thumb along your cheek, outlining your eyes. Symbols are drawn on your forehead as it mutters strange words under its breath. With the pads of its fingers, it coaxes your eyelids shut, and you can feel pigment being applied to them too. You're not inclined to open them again as it lines your lips with colors, running down your chin and onto your neck.

"You're so cute under my spell," says the fairy. "Sometime I'll take you to a still pool so you can see how beautiful my painting is on your blank face."

It picks up your hands and decorates those as well, as your mind dozes and drifts, listening to the far off sounds of bird wings and creatures scuttling through the undergrowth. Your thoughts are filled with colors and mushrooms as a deft finger draws lines around your arms, the fairy's muttering turning into a song, a spell. 

You can feel the magic settling on you and around you like a heavy blanket. Your shoes and socks are pulled off too, landing nearby with a thud, and your feet are decorated, pigment tickling the soles of your feet and the spaces between your toes. Hands that feel sun warmed draw your wrists together and bind them with more silky, weightless ribbons.

"Sleep now, tired little thing. You're safe and sound here with me."

You're half-asleep, eyelids fluttering, as you're picked up and set down again next to the pile of other humans. 

You were lost.

And now you have been collected.

And now you will not be found.

[greenwitchcrafts]

Yarrow

Achillea millefolium

Known as: Allheal, angel flower, arrowroot, bloodwort, cammok, carpenter's weed, death flower, devil's mustard, Devil's nettle, eerie, field hops, gearwe, green arrow, herbe militaris, hundred leaved grass, knight's milfoil, noble yarrow, nosebleed plant, plumajilo, seven year's love, snake's grass, soldiers thousand seal., squirrel tail, stanch grass, tansy, thousand-leaf, thousand weed, woundwort, yarrowway & yerw

Related plants: Is a member of the daisy family Asteraceae that consists of over 32,000 known species of flowering plants in over 1,900 genera within it such as chamomile, coneflowers, dahlia, daisy, dandelion, goldenrod, lettuce, marigold, mugwort & sunflower

Parts used: Leaves & flowers

Habitat and Cultivation: This hardy plant is native to temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere in Asia, Europe & North America

Plant type: Perennial

Region: 3-9

Harvest: Harvest yarrow when the blooms only when they have fully opened. It should be cut right above the leaf node to encourage the plant to potentially flower again. Many choose to harvest the flowers in the late morning when the dew has dried before so that the plant is not stressed by the extreme heat. Hot, dry spells right before bloom seems to be ideal for producing the most fragrant leaves.

Growing tips: Plant in an area that receives full sun to encourage compact growth and many flowers about 1-2 feet apart. In partial sun or shade, yarrow tends to grow leggy. Yarrow performs best in well-drained soil. It thrives in hot, dry conditions; it will not tolerate constantly wet soil. Loamy soil is recommended, but yarrow can also be grown in clay soil as long as it does not always stay saturated with water. While this plant is technically considered invasive only in noncultivated settings, common yarrow still needs to be planted in an area where you don't mind proliferation. 

Medicinal information: Yarrow has a history of being used for fever, common cold, hay fever, absence of menstruation, dysentery, diarrhea, loss of appetite, gastrointestinal (GI) tract discomfort, and to induce sweating. Some people chew the fresh leaves to relieve toothache. Yarrow is applied to the skin to stop bleeding from hemorrhoids; for wounds; and as a sitz bath for painful, lower pelvic, cramp-like conditions in women. Some people chew the fresh leaves to relieve toothache.

Cautions: Yarrow is commonly consumed in foods, but yarrow products that contain a chemical called thujone might not be safe because it is poisonous in large doses. Yarrow is not recommended for use during pregnancy or chestfeeding as it causes risks of miscarriage. Yarrow might slow blood clotting. In theory, taking yarrow might increase the risk of bleeding in people with bleeding disorders. In some people, it also might cause skin irritation & is toxic to cats & dogs.

Magickal properties

Gender: Feminine

Planet: Venus

Element: Air & Water

Deities: Achilles, Aphrodite, Cernunnos, Faeries, Oshun & Yemaya

Magickal uses:

• Add the flowers to a satchet or dream pillow to encourage prophetic dreams

• Hang a bundle above your bed on your honeymoon night to ensure lasting love for 7 years

• Place across your thresholds or plant near doorwaysto prevent negative energies & influences from entering your home

• Burn as an incense before or during divination to increase psychic abilities

• Wear as an amulet to attract love, friendships & give courage

• Place yarrow under your pillow & if you dreamt of your love, it was a positive omen. If you had a bad dream, or dreamt of other people, it wasn’t

• Combine with mugwort as tea to drink before divination to increase psychic powers

• Put near yourself while practicing divination to increase your psychic abilities

• In spells, use to re-establish contact with long-lost friends or relatives & attract their attention

• Braid into your hair to tap into inner wisdom

• The I-Ching divination was originally performed with dried yarrow stems

• Wash crystals& crystal balls with a yarrow rinse to bring about clarity of vision

• Drink yarrow tea & a cinnamon stick to  release hidden truths

• Place on a coffin or grave to help the spirit cross over/ let go

•For powerful protection, pick yarrow flowers and charge them in the sun. Once charged, take the flowers and sprinkle them outside your home to prevent negative influences and energies away from entering your home

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by John Michael Greer

Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer

Plant Witchery by Juliet Diaz

A Compendium of Herbal Magick by Paul Beyerl

The Herbal Alchemist Handbook by Karen Harrison

The Book of Flower Spells by Cheralyn Darcey

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My Hallowe'en Crown

I try to this every Hallowe'en for the last 11 years. This was my crown this year. :) Blacked out my face and some parts of the background that make the area a little too identifiable.

Thought I'd stick with simple this year, but when gathering, uh, you don't realize quite how much you've collected. lol

Wimdy!

I literally put most of these in on my walk, feeling around my head for an open spot. lol

Maples, oaks, spruces, riverbank grape, hydrangeas, goldenrods, asters, poisonberry, tulip tree, ginkgo, blanketflower, harebell, grass, staghorn sumac, Virginia creeper, tansy, and others. :)

The trick is to style your hair so there are lots of places up top to hold stems, and you need leaves, flowers, and berry clusters with long stems. A braid at the back will allow more to be held in that braid so the crown can cascade down, and braids on either side of your face at the front will allow the crown to frame your face. The curlier your hair, the better it will hold the leaves/flowers/berry clusters due its natural tendency to lock together. Bobby pins are also helpful. I used six to hold the top twists in place (three on each side, braided all together at the back).

[gaiaseyes451]

7 Days, 700 Words - Storm Break - 7/7 - Complete!

Storm Break (new part in blue)

The patter of rain on the clay shingled roof interrupts our peace. Soft and languid a moment ago, your breath quickens; the crackle of the fire in the hearth a foreshock of the quake amassing in the slate gray clouds. Yet it is I who flinches when lightning flashes, casting the cottage sitting room into sharp relief. Too bright, too cold, too familiar.

Our fingers intertwine and reflexively I curl beside you. Whether it is to soothe my own anxiety or bolster your resolve matters not; you pressed against me, cheek resting in my curls, is a balm all the same.

I count silently, one…two…three… anticipating the sound that follows the fury. Thunder cracks, rattling the glass so droplets spill like tears down window pane cheeks. Through the tempest the unseen sun sets in the churning sky, violet and gold and vermilion glowing on the horizon. There is so much beauty in this world—once our ward, now made home—even in the storms.

But your vision is shuttered, goldenrod irises barricaded against the aftershock of memories of more insidious foes. I run my fingers through your hair and conjure the first storm we weathered, sheltered together as the rain fell over Eden. 

Poor protection though they were, we huddled together as the cold drops beaded on  my wings and ran off in steady rivulets, watching the world change around us. I remember the heat of the sun warmed stones beneath our feet, the whip of the wind against my robes and through your hair. 

But most of all, I remember the colors. In the rain soaked light greens were more verdant, reds richer, blues shades of indigo in their saturation. 

Your eyes, a soul suspended in amber, beside me.

“Do you remember Eden,” I murmur against your temple, “after the first rain?”

You look at me, the same golden soul, no less cherished for finally being mine, and smile. “I do.” 

I stand, our fingers still interlaced, and together we journey toward the garden and into the storm. I leave you on the patio, behind the curtain falling from the eaves, and step into the rain soaked grass to spread my wings. 

Before I can call you are beside me, glistening ebony wings perched carefully overhead 

“The scent of it,” you sigh, darker thoughts replaced by the breath of this moment. “Of dirt and petrichor, flowers and fruit. Life and Earth. You.”

We stand here, vulnerable and exposed, clothes dripping, sodden ground cold beneath our feet. We could turn, return inside, the breeze having whisked away the last remnants of our unease. 

Instead, we stay. 

This is precisely where we belong. We dwell in the cottage, but it is not our shelter. Its walls offer protection, but it is not our refuge.

The rain replenishes the silver necklace streams that adorn the land. The storm breaks the heat of long summer days and nourishes the jasmine that perfumes humid nights. It cleanses souls and slakes thirsts.

We need not fear the rain.

We did not seek refuge on wooden boats as the seas rose and the sky fell. Our safety was not heralded by a dove and olive branch. The ribbon of color bursting across a brilliant blue sky proclaims the magnificence of physics, not a miracle of faith. 

Troubles will always follow and we will surely fret and worry. Until the time the rain comes—as gale or shower, storm or drizzle—and washes our troubles away. The rain falls over everything. Even us. We shall always emerge from it, renewed and reborn, on our side.

We have learned to welcome the storm.

With unspoken agreement, we lower our wings, letting the rain wash over us. The storm is an old friend, the oldest we have. With each deep rumble and brilliant flash it greets us, in every heavy drop it bids us farewell.

Safety is the squeeze of your arm around my waist. Peace is seeing your shining eyes, day in and day out. Home is at your side; just as it has always been. 

You dip down as I reach up to capture your lips in a smiling kiss. This, too, we know well. After all, we were the first to fall in love in the rain.

****

The prompt was provided by @crowleysgirl56 and comes from the poem Troubles Follow by @lickthecowhappy . The stanza used as the prompt:

but a cottage near the / sea cannot shelter / from every storm / as rain falls / over all

It's done! I will be doing this again, I'll start the next one in a couple of days. :)

Got a prompt you want me to use next time? Add a comment below! Want to be on a tag list? Follow #Storm Break or comment below. Feel free to adopt this idea yourself! If you do, tag me and I will give you a prompt!

[astra-ravana]

Magickal Herb Sets

Road Opener

• Yarrow

• Garlic

• Ferns

• Mallow

• Lemon Balm

• Mint

• Parsley

• Rosehips

• Rosemary

• Valerian

• Verbena

• Abre Camino

• Pine

• Five Finger Grass

• Allspice

• High John

• Basil

Astral Projection

• Wormwood

• Blue Lotus

• Mugwort

• Huckleberry

• Bakana

• Valerian

• Narrow-leaf Heimia

• Wild Asparagus Root

• Ginkgo Bilboa

• Damiana

• Lo John Root

• Huperzine-A

• Frankincense

• Nutmeg

• Xhosa Dream Root

• Eyebright

• Calea-Zacatechichi

Divination

• Acacia

• Star Anise

• Borage

• Ground Ivy

• Benzoin

• Lemongrass

• Celery

• Althea

• Bistort

• Orris Root

• Goldenrod

• Elecampane

• Agrimony

• Mullein

• Flaxseed

• Broom

• Camphor

Personal Power

• Chrysanthemum

• Aloe Vera

• Eucalyptus

• Peppermint

• Amber

• Cumin

• Bamboo

• Kava

• Calamus Root

• Passionflower

• Ashwegandha

• Bacopa

• Mustard Seed

• Turmeric

• Patchouli

• Shankapushpi

• Dog Rose

Manifestation

• Bay Leaves

• Cannabis

• Holy Basil

• Balm of Gilead

• Dandelion

• Cinnamon

• Lavender

• White Sage

• Lion's Tail

• Dittany of Crete

• Tears of Chios

• Roses

• Saffron

• Irish Moss

• Jasmine

• Alfalfa

• Ginger

For the Fae

• Blue Bell

• Vervain

• Elderberries

• Foxglove

• Honeysuckle

• Hawthorne

• Thyme

• Apple

• Fig

• Primrose

• Orchid

• Rowan

• Echinacea

• Clover

• Mistletoe

• Poppie

• Oak

[bethanythebogwitch]

Native Wildflowers collection

Native wildflowers from my previous job. All pics by me. Not an exhaustive list. Split into multiple posts due to the image limit.

Starting off with everyone's (read: monarch butterflies') favorite: milkweed. Common milkweed is on the left. I think what we called common milkweed was actually 2 closely-related species. On the right is swam milkweed, which likes wetter soil. Butterfly weed in the bottom is a milkweed, but its sap is clear instead of white so some people don't realize that. It's also much shorter than most milkweeds.

We have 2 main gentian species. These flowers don't open all the way and only larger insects like bees can force their way in. These bees then seek out gentians as an exclusive food source, making it more likely for them to pollinate the gentians. Cream gentian (left) is white and can get very tall on good years. Bottle gentian (right) is a small, low-lying plant that hides under other plants. This picture was taken early in the season so they're pretty pale. They turn bright blue when they're in bloom.

Yellow (left) and purple (right) coneflower

Mountain mint (right) and downy wood mint (left)

Wild raspberry (left) and dewberry (right). My personal nemeses when I was moving through the prairie. Thorns are not my friend

Foxglove beardtongue, which comes in a common white color (right) and a rarer purple variant (left). Below is false foxglove, which is a hemiparasite (plant that gains nutrition through parasitism and photosynthesis) that leaches off of oak roots

Bee balm, this one has a lot of ornamental cultivars

Rattlesnake master, a badass name for a weird and spiky plant

Ironweed. We have a few species and I don't know how to tell them apart

Wild quinine. In the 3 growth seasons I worked here, this one became much more common.

Prairie coreopsis (left) and tall coreopsis (right). Guess what the difference between these two is

Rosinweed (left) and cup plant (right). Two closely related species.

Maryland senna (left) and partridge pea (right). Similar (but not closely related) species that grow pods full of seeds. As they dry, the pods peel open and send the seeds flying out.

Prairie dock. These grow very tall and have huge leaves that are cool because the roots bring up water from deep underground

Ashy sunflower, a hemiparasite that kills goldenrod and tall grasses. As those two are very aggressive plants that can take over whole fields. ashy sunflower seeds are a great way to fight back against them and help increase biodiversity.

Cardinal flower. This one is endangered so its great that it's doing well and even spreading where I worked.

Common thistle. This one is unfortunately losing ground to invasive Canada thistle (not actually from Canada) and isn't very popular, but bugs love it.

Black-eyed Susan (left) and sweet black-eyed Susan (right). The latter is larger and doesn't tolerate shade as well.

Continued in part 2

[ayzrules-art]

a lil intro for moon-and-seraph's words into potions event this march! definitely check it out if you can; they've put so much work into making such a cute, motivating challenge for us!

WILT AND BLOOM .

GENRE・Fantasy (specifically, second world urban fantasy) WARNINGS・Body horror and plant-related body horror, mild gore, physical/emotional abuse, implied/fade-to-black sexual abuse, violence, torture, nonconsensual experimentation, abductions/kidnapping.

SUMMARY・Sworn to serve the Blooming Court and its fickle blossom-queen, Alejandro has resigned himself to an eternity ensnared in the treachery of fae lords and their patronage contracts—binding agreements drawn in blood, and in the flowers that sprout from his bones each spring. But everything changes when he rescues a girl cursed to die as a star.

First, Alejandro must accept the help of a traitor. Then, the manhunt to bring in a heart-eating Oathbreaker wreaks havoc on the centennial Ascendancy, uprooting all his attempts to save Genevieve. To make matters worse, the embers of an ancient war are flaring back to life: the Blooming Queen and her Withering half-sister have been battling for centuries, the magic of the land sickens with the pollutants of the modern age, and investigating the curse reveals a deadly truth that leads to more questions than answers.

As Genevieve grows weaker, it all comes down to Alejandro to put an end to a battle between the forces of life and death and wilt and bloom—a battle that may just be the end of the world as he knows it.

[aesthetics + court info under the cut]

COLOR PALETTE .

The Blooming Queen’s hair as it is when the story starts: a rotting, brown-sweetened gold, like a bruised persimmon, pale orange undertones mottled with the hues of overripe peach flesh.

All the reds of an autumn forest, but especially the deep, bloody reds that certain trees produce—crimson with a cool tinge to it, a violet-indigo like shadows blooming at twilight.

The dry, wilted brown of fallen leaves; the papery chestnut of dying grass; the goldenrod that adorns fields in sways and swirls until first frost.

Dusk-light that pours like honey, a sighed warmth that pools into all the places where you have gone hollow.

The depthless dark of the Withering Queen’s eyes, like earth black with everything once-bloomed and dying; the burnished gleam of the wilt-prince’s eyes, dark like his mother’s until the light hits right. Then, they’re veined in the softness of mercy.

The orange ember-brilliance of Tselvya’s flames, of Genevieve’s hair, of chrysanthemums and marigolds throwing flamboyant blooms into the slow subside of midsummer sunshine.

THE BLOOMING COURT .

Butterflies and moths and beetles have domain over this land, where the flowers are bright and the berries overripe, sweet and heady and repugnant. The Blooming Queen dotes upon them, and they grow larger than they have any right to be.

The fae sworn to the blossom-queen adorn themselves in red, red jewels and red flowers and red life, carnage bloodied down the tips of sharp teeth and talon-pointed nails. They pluck the eyeballs out of freshly slaughtered game and feast on fruit bruised to the point of bursting, and all the flowers they touch bloom big and bright and radiant, incandescent—almost frighteningly alive.

Death will always be much too slow to come, here where life rots to the very core.

THE WITHERING THRONE .

The wilt-queen rules from a throne of bones and moonflowers, and her flesh is so brittle that she appears to be no more than a dead body propped up in a borrowed imitation of life. A single touch of her finger leaves spiderwebs of pale mold behind, dozens of white moths fluttering about her shoulders and settling atop the crown of fresh roses adorning her hair. As the moon rises and falls and rises again, the moths drop all around her, and the roses lose their bright sweetness, rotting into a slow, violet-brown mass, until the Withering Queen is draped in nothing but corpses.

The wilt-queen offers her white-clad followers all manner of delicacies over the course of their midnight banquets, and she eagerly partakes in the festivities herself, her dainty corpse-mouth red with the hearts of small, dead creatures. She caresses bony fingers—spindly like the stems of wilted flowers—down the edges of dewy blossoms and trapped prey animals before she drains all the life out of them, her face going from dead-eyed translucence to pink and flushed in the space between one exhale and the next. 

Birds and insects and rodents die at the hands of the Withering Throne, laid to rest in the soil, and the Withering Queen feasts. She feasts.

[vandaliatraveler]

Part 1: Early Summer Wildflower Palooza, Cranberry Glade. It's orchid week at Cranberry Glades! Ok - the event may not be quite as exciting as Shark Week on Discovery, but plant nerds such as me experience something approaching tingly nipples at the prospect of getting up close and personal with grass pinks and snakemouths. A sampling of the many orchids now in bloom . . .

From top: greater purple fringed orchid (Platanthera grandiflora), a tall, leafy-stemmed beauty with clustered, intricately-fringed lavender flowers; downy rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera pubescens), a common terrestrial orchid of eastern woods with a striking, reticulated pattern in its leaves (this one is getting ready to bloom); the flamboyantly-beautiful tuberous grass pink (Calopogon tuberosus var. tuberosus), whose nectarless flowers deceptively imitate the magenta color of those of other bog plants, such as meadow phlox (following post), to draw pollinators; a ragged fringed orchid (Platanthera lacera), also known as green fringed orchid, whose fragile, frilly green-white flowers are hard to spot in the bog underbrush; the dainty rose pogonia (Pogonia ophioglossoides), also known as snakemouth orchid, due the tooth-like protuberances on its lower lip (note the sneaky goldenrod crab spider (Misumena vatia) hiding in the flower in the second photo, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting bee, the orchid's primary pollinator); and northern tubercled orchid (Platanthera flava), another orchid with green-white flowers that can be difficult to spot in the bog underbrush.

[buglvr24]

guys it’s chilly this morning and there’s dew on the grass and a slight fog in the air and the leaves are starting to change and the goldenrod is blooming. fall is coming and i’m so happy

i wish it would stay this temperature all day but i know it will be 80 this afternoon 😔

GO OUTSIDE AND BE IN NATURE TODAY ITS GOOD FOR U

[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 17 - The Pit

Good news! I have finished my danny phantom fanfic so I can move Clove to the more active position in my writing rotation. So, this story will progress much faster (think one or two pieces of clove writing per week)

Masterlist

Part 16

Content: Fae whumpers, vampire whumpee, collared and bound, manhandling, lacerations around the mouth

........................................................

Ephraim sat against the cold pillar, arms wrapped around knees and his head down, toes curled into the strange grass. He shivered as the fog twisted around him, dampening his clothing and hair, leaving him to grow cold. He hadn’t thought about much of anything for the past few hours. What was there to think about? How he failed, again? Goldenrod gone into the mists of the fae wilds just like Benny? Ephraim’s own impending death? 

Goldenrod had been so scared. Ephraim tried to keep his eyes wide open, staring at his tattered pants, because if he closed his eyes the only clear thought he would have would be the image of Goldenrod’s wide, fearful eyes.

Ephraim felt as though the fog had entered in through his ears and left him quiet and damp and miserable inside there too. 

He hugged his knees closer, shifting his head for the hundredth time trying to get the collar to stop from cutting into his jaw. He had checked the collar earlier. No openings, no seam lines, nothing. Same with the chain. He was well and truly trapped. 

A sudden wind picked up through the fog, chilling Ephraim so thoroughly he couldn’t help but gasp and it took him a moment to look up, shivering. 

The fog was blowing back and away from him, showing him more of the cold, dreary landscape. There were no trees or buildings, just rolling blue hills as far as he was able to see. 

Well, there was something else. Three figures striding towards him. 

He should stand up, meet his death face to face, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand and expose himself to even more of that cold, cruel wind. 

The three fae approached, chatting with one another and laughing. The leader looked to be the shortest, gossamer wings glimmering as though there were sunlight shining down on them. He was beautiful in the way that vampires were supposed to be, but didn’t quite manage, ethereal and uncanny. 

The one walking on his right had an extra pair of arms, several fox tails waving around behind her, while the third looked like a bird of prey, his arms and wings the same limb and his face shaping into a beak which clacked gently as he spoke.

Ephraim could hear them speaking with one another, laughing softly, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying, their voices warbling and unclear to him.  

Ephriam twitched when they looked directly at him, their gazes becoming something sharp and hungry. 

“Oh, sweetheart!” the shortest called in a singsong voice, finally making sense to him. “Did you get lost?”

Ephraim shook his head a little. 

“Foolish, then,” the bird of prey said. “To come here so boldly.”

“No,” Ephraim said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “There was a man I was following. He has my…. My son.”

“Son? Not fledgling?” the shortest asked, wings flickering. “Stealing children now, are we, experiment?”

He reached out a hand and Ephraim heard the chain come out of the stone. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the chain moved too quickly, jerking him forward to land sprawled at the feet of the three fae, the chain held in the shortest’s hand. The three of them laughed as he caught his breath, his chest aching with the impact. 

“It’s funny every time,” the bird fae said, his beak clacking sharply, causing Ephraim to flinch as he started to get up.

The four armed fae put a foot on his back, keeping him from rising as his control over his breathing left him, tearing at the grass as adrenaline spiking in his tired, cold system. 

“Tough luck about your son,” she said, crouching and grabbing his wrists. He yelled as she repositioned his arms behind his back, the chain forming solidly around them to hold them there. “We don’t allow freaks of nature to wander around our wilds, though,” she whispered. 

She lifted Ephraim, putting him solidly on his feet before pushing him forward. 

“Please, wait!” Ephraim said desperately as the three fae closed around him, dragging and pushing him forward. “Please! I have to save him! Jack’s going to-”

The four armed fae grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head back as though he were a doll with no resisting force. 

He cried out in pain, arched awkwardly as he tried to reach with hands bound behind his back to push her off. 

“Shut it, vampire,” she hissed before releasing him, watching him stumble before grabbing him by the back of his tattered shirt to control him better. 

The fog vanished before the three fae as they walked, and the low, rolling hills suddenly fell away. 

There was a pit in the fog. It stretched on and on, blocks of reddish granite dotting the edge in intervals until it all disappeared into the mist. 

And in the pit…..

There had been stories that things did not decay in the fae wilds. Not unless acted upon by an outside source. There were hundreds of bodies in the pit, all with gaping wounds in their chests, mouth open and bloody, fangs ripped out, all of them as fresh and pristine as the day they died, horror frozen on their dead faces. 

A horrified sob ripped out of Ephraim as he searched the faces, looking for Benjamin’s. Is this what happened to his fledgling? 

Before he could find anything, the four armed fae threw him down, back against the stone before grabbing him with all four hands to make sure he was laying flat on it. 

“Give me the stake, Jokel,” she said to the bird fae, who reached into his bag to do so as Ephraim writhed, the chains digging into his wrists and back. 

“Hold on,” the shortest fae said, sounding offended. “I want his fangs.”

The four armed fae huffed as the fae with gossamer wings stepped forward, his robes sweeping over the grass like a hiss of death. 

He grabbed Ephraim’s jaw, despite Ephraim’s vain attempts to avoid his hand. His fingers were sharp, and cut shallow lines in Ephraim’s jaw and lips as he pried the vampire’s mouth open. 

Ephraim stopped struggling as the sharp claws forced their way into his mouth, heavy on his tongue and gums. He closed his eyes tight, whimpering as he waited for the fae to take his fangs, mentally preparing himself for the sharp and terrible pain that was sure to come, but a silence fell, heavy and long. 

He cracked an eye open to find all three of the fae staring at him. 

The gossamer fae ran a thumb over his broken fang. “You’ve bitten something you shouldn’t have. What did you fight, vampire?”

The gossamer fae removed his fingers from Ephraim’s mouth and Ephraim licked his bloody lips quickly and nervously. “Fae,” he croaked. He was dead anyways. And if they did decide to torture him, perhaps that would provide him with an opportunity of escape. ”About half a century ago, I think.”

The fae all shared a look before sharp eyes turned to him again. “Where.”

“Quiet Brook,” Ephraim replied in a shaky tone. 

That got a reaction. The four armed fae released him immediately like he’d burned her, and the bird and gossamer fae looked faintly disappointed. 

“Right,” the gossamer fae sighed. “You’d better not be lying. The queen will want to meet you.”

“Queen? I don’t have time for that! I have to-”

Jokel grabbed him by the chain, close to the collar, and forced him up. “You have an audience with the queen. You will do as we say, and you might even live.”

Ephraim swallowed hard and nodded against the collar, holding his breath as it crushed his windpipe slightly. The pain didn’t really matter. He could barely feel it through the confusion, relief, and fear. 

“Just our luck,” the gossamer fae sighed as Jokel released Ephraim’s collar and they all watched him stumble to keep upright. “I really wanted a couple more fangs for my collection.”

“How are you coming along with that, Kortop?” the four armed fae asked, walking beside him as Jokel took charge of walking Ephraim forward, much more gently now. 

“Oh, I’m getting close. I want to have it done by the harvest festivals so I can wear them all out and about. It’s going to look incredible when it’s finished, but I think I might have to go vampire hunting if I want it done on time.”

“A trip to the human realm doesn’t sound too bad,” the four armed fae said thoughtfully. “I’d like to come if you do go.”

“Of course! We’ll make a vacation of it. Jokel, are you interested?”

“Not really.”

“Spoil sport.”

Ephraim looked back over his shoulder at the pit, blood dripping down and along his chin in cold, windswept lines. There were so many dead vampires there. So many slain when they could have just been sent back. But how many vampires avoided the pit for much worse fates in the courts?

Ephraim couldn’t stop shivering. He wished so badly to go home, to be in the garden, to hold Goldenrod. He wished it so badly his chest hurt and his eyes burned. He lowered his head, fighting back tears as he was escorted through the cold hills of the fae wilds. 

Part 18

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff @honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Hello! I am sorry for the delay! The tournament will start at November 18 at 2 pm BRT, the polls will be posted every 10 minutes!

The matches were randomized!

Side A

A bouquet of purple daylily, green carnation, dead leaves, fern, opium flowers and coriander Vs Red Orchid

Violet Vs Red Spider Lily

Dandelions 1 Vs A bouquet of willows and chives

A bouquet of wisteria, black and red carnations and foxgloves Vs A bouquet of buttercup, daffodils, edelweiss and orange

A bouquet of amaryllis, milkweed, bluebells and strelitizia Vs A bouquet of blue and red hyacinths

A bouquet of white, red and black roses Vs A bouquet of white chrysanthemums, orchids and blue hydrangeas

A bouquet of white chrysanthemums, orchids and blue hydrangeas Vs Forget-me-nots

A bouquet of snapdragon, tansy and black eyed susan Vs White poppies

Daisies Vs A bouquet of white clover, chamomile and pine

A bouquet of pink peonies, purple hydrangea and a variety of cosmos Vs A bouquet of asphodel, sage, yellow chrysanthemum, green carnation, plum blossom, stinging nettle, anemone and acanthus

A bouquet of marigold, dandelions, goldenrods and amaryllis Vs A bouquet of sea holly, ageratum, globe thistle, orchid cactus, protea, bird of paradise, mimosa, dianthus, hydrangea and clematis

A bouquet of bleeding hearts and dandelions Vs A bouquet of plastic lemon balm, thyme, hyacinths and anemone flowers, with a single real orange rose in the middle, wrapped in light blue cellophane

A bouquet of snapdragon, yellow poppy and jonquil Vs Blue Rose

A bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis Vs A bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

Snapdragons Vs A bouquet of lily, red spider lily, daffodils and milkweed

A bouquet of rainflower, green carnation, camelia, nightshade, mulberry and purple lilac Vs Red Anemone

Side B

Strelitzia Vs A bouquet of blue violets, trumpet creeper, lavender and green carnation

Hibiscus Syriacus Vs Dandelions 2

Desert Bluebell Vs A bouquet of yellow and purple carnations

A bouquet of poppies, daffodils, daisies, ivy, and purple hyacinths Vs A bouquet of gloriosa (flame lily), veronica, jasione, jacaranda, cyclamen, jasmine and freesia

A bouquet of dandelions and buttercups Vs A bouquet of marigold, yellow and white zinnia, phlox, bluebells, cornflower, gladiolus, rosemary, dark crimson rose and purple cyclamen

A bouquet of orange lilies, yellow roses, buttercups, aconite, sunflower, hollyhock and lotus Vs bouquet of jasmine, milkweed, dandelion, poppy and oenothera

A bouquet of oleander, refflesia (corpse flower), trigidia, hyacinth, hollyhock, Iberis (candytuft) and orange tulip Vs A bouquet of lily of the valley and amaryllis

A bouquet of marigolds, tuberose, and dandelions Vs A bouquet of daffodil and pansy

A bouquet of amaranth, orange brugmansia, delphinium, honeysuckle and white aster Vs A bouquet of plumeria, fawn lily, magnolia and star grass

A bouquet of gladiolus, snapdragon, canterbury bells, gloriosa (flame lily) and white chrysanthemum Vs A bouquet of fern, rex begonia leaves, black rose, lily, odessa calla lily and green hydrangea

A bouquet of daisies, butterfly weed, orchids, purple lotus and violets Vs A bouquet of striga, mistletoe, and monotropa uniflora

Thistle Vs A bouquet of chestnut flower, lotus, dandelion, fern, thyme, anemone, geranium, holly, magnolia and bluebell

A bouquet of poppy, zygopetalum, echeveria, dandelion, yucca, twinspur , lotus, tagetes, ursinia, purple hyacinth and hibiscus Vs A bouquet of amaryllis, dicentra, red spider lily and white roses

Oleander Vs A bouquet of blue and purple daisies, desert lilies and black tulips

A bouquet of black eyed Susan, geranium and a tall sunflower Vs A bouquet of forsythia, holly, yellow hyacinth, petunia, viscaria and orange lilys

A bouquet of arborvitae, gladiolus and begonia Vs Spiderwort

[alpha-ratsnest]

poem by Brigit Pegeen Kelly from her book The Orchard, text under the cut. i love this poem. the plants it references are tallgrass prairie plants. the goldenrods are blooming (it's the beginning of august) and i know summer is mostly over. i think about this poem a lot at this time of year.

Blessed is the Field

In the late heat the snakeroot and goldenrod run high, White and gold, the steaming flowers, green and gold, The acid-bitten leaves....It is good to say first

An invocation. Though the words do not always Seem to work. Still, one must try. Bow your head. Cross your arms. Say: Blessed is the day. And the one

Who destroys the day. Blessed is this ring of fire In which we live....How bitter the burning leaves. How bitter and sweet. How bitter and sweet the sound

Of the single gold and black insect repeating Its two lonely notes. The insect's song both magnifies The field and casts a shadow over it, the way

A doorbell ringing through an abandoned house Makes the falling rooms, papered with lilies and roses And two-headed goats, seem larger and more ghostly.

The high grasses spill their seed. It is hard to know The right way in or out. But here, you can have Which flower you like, though there are not many left,

Lady's thumb in the gravel by the wood's fringe And on the shale spit beneath the black walnut that houses The crow, the peculiar cat's-paw, sweet everlasting,

Unbearably soft. Do not mind the crow's bark. He is fierce and solitary, but he will let us pass, Patron of the lost and broken-spirited. Behind him

In the quarter ring of sumacs, flagged like circus tents, The deer I follow, and that even now are watching us, Sleep at night their restless sleep. I find their droppings

In the morning. And here at my feet is the self-heal, Humblest of flowers, bloomless but still intact. I ate Some whole once and did not get well but it may strike

Your fancy. The smell of burning rubber is from A rabbit carcass the dog dragged into the ravine. And the smell of lemon is the snakeroot I am crushing

Between my thumb and forefinger....There could be Beneath this field an underground river full Of sweet liquid. A dowser might find it with his witching

Wand and his prayers. Some prayers can move Even the stubborn dirt....Do you hear? The bird I have never seen is back. Each day at this time

He takes up his ominous clucking, fretting like a baby, Lonely sweetling. It is hard to know the right way In or out. But look, the goldenrod is the color

Of beaten skin. Say: Blessed are those who stand still In their confusion. Blessed is the field as it burns.