Solidago Dirge
This branching towering stalk belongs to a seaside goldenrod (Solidago semperviren) planted next to the garage by the owner of this plot. There are several who have overgrown themselves, falling backwards into the garage wall or forwards onto the brick patio like drunken miners. They have evolved, as their name suggests, in seaside locations, these are dune flowers, ready to survive salty conditions and the intermittant drought. Enough water tells them to feed their roots, dig in for the long haul. More nutrients gives them a leafy stalky disposition. There is a certain intelligence in things, a place-based knowledge that serves well and adapts its knowledge to the very long term. The eruption of Asters, for example, the most recent family of plants, may be just that sort of thing. Short-term long term, variety and adaptability, patience and impatience in their proper time; seaside goldenrod, like most short lived perennials, has its species' survival in mind, if I may mix that metaphor. This one has grown leaves to feed its young roots and store up the needed energy for the certain drought that may never come in this xeriscaped yard on this pile of sand atop the piece of limestone stuck ungraciously to the underbelly of the North American continent. The water cycles daily, floating the sand enough for everything else to hold on. Keeping life in motion.

Which, as a trend, would be a good one in these days of George W. Bush. The scare tactics and violence they employ to keep the rest in order should cause everyone to shudder just a little bit. Ask oneself, of what else is he capable if these are his standards of truth? And, should we survive this travesty with parts of our democracy intact, we should be certain to think the next time. We should remember to throw a lot of money at education and food and teach civics and ethics in the classroom and make it matter as it should that someone has been born in this great nation and has the opportunities to truly make a difference. A perfect society can never be made, but if one does not work to that end one is working toward imperfection. Politics are too uncertain to be handed over to ultimatums and ideological snares, they are today's negotiations, tomorrow's hopes. The Bush's, who I am sure are a good people at heart, should be ashamed for their wayward son. This has cost too many too much. We can only hope that the ascendancy of these ideas has caused them the same sort of gravity problems that beset this goldenrod. May they tumble forward onto the brick patio of last year's mistake and leave us to grow our gardens as we will.