Red-winged blackbird, keeping an eye on me….
From the scabland bouquet…
Not that I have standing to complain, but it all goes by so fast—the parade of wildflowers that begins in March with snow on the buttercups and grass widows, to the July sunshine withering the showy milkweed. It’s not quite over yet. There is still tansy and yarrow and two kinds of Mo…
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