Monday, August 10, 2009

Impatiens capensis



Hyla Brook

By June our brook's run out of song and speed.
Sought for much after that, it will be found
Either to have gone groping underground
(And taken with it all the Hyla breed
That shouted in the mist a month ago,
Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)--
Or flourished and come up in jewel-weed,
Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent
Even against the way its waters went.
Its bed is left a faded paper sheet
Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat--
A brook to none but who remember long.
This as it will be seen is other far
Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song.
We love the things we love for what they are.

Robert Frost





Orange Jewelweed. Impatiens capensis. Touch-me-not family. Also known as spotted touch-me-not, snapweed, silver leaf, and lady's eardrops.



Its fragile orange (sometimes gold or yellow) blossoms remind me of tiny snapdragons. It’s the juice in the thick icy-green stems, however, that you rub on your skin, should you have stumbled into poison ivy’s ‘leaflets three’ or nettles’ inescapable prickles. - Betty Lies








And by Betty Lies from http://www.packetinsider.com/blog/nature/?p=113





Jewelweed





We call it touch-me-not, this wildness

tense as a spring: Hands off,

it seems to say, but I know

something wound up

in the heart’s green coils

is crying Touch me. Touch me.

Touch me now. All fall

I have been drawn and drawn again

to one tall stand of jewelweed,

to touch the pendant seedpods,

feel them burst with life.

I understand it’s not just botany

that gives me such delight

running my fingers over their plumpness,

warming them till they explode

and scatter seed.

I have seen hummingbirds

bury their beaks in jeweled cups,

the bees delving so deep

you only know they’re inside

by the flower’s orange tremblings.

This autumn, when my body

keeps its secrets from me,

hiding something deep within,

it pleases me to feel

the life stored in those pods,

waiting for release, first now,

and then again to rise,

to rise after a slow cold winter.



- Betty Lies



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