If you’re looking for contrast, look to the yucca: fat, buttery-looking flowers paired with sharp leaves that, believe me, will elicit a defensive yelp at the slightest inadvertent brush.
The yucca demand attention in other ways, too.
Their flowering has been fabulous, and I assumed I had plenty of time.
I admired the display on dozens of stems west of here, along the road in and out of our place. Looking into the pasture from my office, the grass was flecked with creamy spots, which I initially mistook for plastic bags blown in on the wind, but no: the yucca were blooming in places I hadn’t realized there were yucca plants growing.
I need to take a walk with the camera, I thought.
Finally, a few days ago, I went out to record the fabulous yucca bloom for this blog, I found most of the spires gone, most of the flowers spent.
The images tell one story, of abundance and the grace of living things in their place, doing what they’re adapted to do, serving motives I sometimes flatter myself I can comprehend.
But three weeks into my project of blogging the bloom, I’m abruptly confronted with the terminal frontier. It will all end, too soon. There are more flowers than days in July, and the bloom is moving faster than I can track.
So pretty. So, so sharp.