the power of seed

Fresh, silky milkweed floss in late summer ( or is it early fall ? )...about to carry the next generation into the wind and colonize new territory in the Spring. Paper-thin wrinkled discs hardly look capable of growing into great stalks of sturdy milkweed plants. Each individual plant seems like a world unto itself : aphids, leaf hoppers and spitbugs sip their juices, milkweed beetles thrive on them ( not exactly sure what they do...? ), Monarch butterfly caterpillars eat the leaves. All sorts of insects visit the sweetly scented flowers to sip on nectar or collect pollen ( or dine on smaller insects that are collecting nectar or pollen ) I've witnessed at least one groundhog chow down on the young plants ( less than two feet tall ) in our own yard, leaving bare stems weeping white latex. Who know what goes on under the ground...what sorts of relationships they have worked out with fungi, bacteria and other microorganisms. Where there is now seemingly barren ground, milkweed seeds await their cues to continue their version of life on Earth.

Spring is possible !

OK...now it seems possible for the ground to thaw, for mud to transform back into soil and for green shoots to emerge from dormant roots, rhizomes and seeds. The past few weeks have seemed a little bleak, what with lingering snow and ice... but really when compared to the 11 foot snows they've had to endure in upstate New York, I shouldn't complain. Yesterday was nice...50-ish with the sun out...streams and creeks alive with snow melt and the rain that fell during the night.
I am reading "The Snow Geese" by William Fiennes. A Brit, recovering from a long illness decides to follow the snow goose's route from winter grounds in southern Texas up through the Mid-West and on to Baffin Island, where they nest in the summer. Wonderful, evocative writing. Here he is describing a pet of a new friend:

Saila was three-quarters wolf and a quarter husky, with the colouring of a wolf, and the figure of a Shetland pony: fourteen years old, lame, deaf, almost blind, her dark eyes swirled through with milkiness.....her legs no longer hinged at the knees:they were as stiff as crutches. Each step forward beat the odds, bucking a trend. She tottered.She moved one foot and waited before following its lead, as if to verify that the limb could support her weight....we'd walk down the corridor together, one step at a time, blind Siala listing from side to side, slewing into stacks of boxes. One morning she knocked over a box mark "christmas decorations" and stood confused in a spill of rosettes, pompoms, and paper-twist angels.