Clouds spill across the sky like a painted ceiling above my head, the air is still around me as I slowly make my way across the carpeted green of the forest floor. It is dark beneath the cedar canopy, no stray beams of sunlight to make the shadows scatter.
I love the silence that clouds bring; as if the world waits for sunshine and blue skies before venturing out their door, as if I am the only one around to witness the forest’s quiet magic.
I emerge from the cocoon of the forest into my favourite little meadow and pause to gather my slightly overwhelmed wits. The gently sloping hill cascades with wildflowers: daisies, yarrow, dame’s rocket, and campion. Wild roses, dwarf lupines, thistles, and spirea. More, I’m sure, that I miss hidden underneath the bouquet or tucked into the shadowed edges of the meadow.
With a quiet breath and gentle steps, I wade in.
Swaths of daisies overtake my vision; bright yellow centres, unmarred white petals. They stand tall and straight, they lean with gravity down the hillside, they capture delicate rain droplets upon their upturned faces.
Yarrow’s tiny clustered flowers daintily reside within the field, tucked around shrubs and small trees, mixing with the overwhelming field of daisies. White, I’ve seen many times. Purple is new to me, but steals my love instantly.
Soft purple roses sit high above the organized chaos below, while dandelions wearing their soft and fluffy mane are few and far between near the earth. Red seeds and green grasses brush my legs as I meander, tiny crickets scatter in front of me with each step, like waves cresting before a ship.
I reach the bottom of the gentle slope and make my way to one side. Dame’s rocket has overtaken this spot; these four-petaled beauties range from softened white to both pastel and rich purple tones. They hold the recent rain upon their silky petals and catch muted beams of light as it slowly begins to filter through the dense cloud cover.
My time nearly ending in this glorious pocket of summer, when something, a bloom, catches my eye from across the open clearing. I’ve never seen that flower before, I think to myself. From so far away, I cannot explain how I know this white flower differs from the myriad others in this space. I just know.
Campion, I discover it’s called. Gorgeous in its crinkled edges and red and white striped buds, it reminds me of pinwheels and circus tents. I am completely enthralled with the way it peeks in and out of the tall grass surrounding it.
Thrilled with my new find, I spend many moments here, absorbed in the shapes and colours of this little flower. I wonder to myself if this is the first year it has bloomed here, having been spread by bird or wind, or whether I had simply missed it in previous years, however unlikely. Whatever the reason, I am so pleased to have discovered its unique loveliness.
When I am sufficiently mosquito-bitten and tired, I climb the sloping hill and re-enter the darkened forest. I follow the winding dirt path through those green carpets of moss, and eventually, I climb into the truck to head home.
All the while, my head remains in the meadow amidst the gently swaying wildflowers of summer.
See you next time,
♡ Whitney
Lovely words and photographs, like fields of dreams.
Stunning photos, like heaven on earth. Thank you 💜