Greek oregano bolts in our garden. All manner of pollen hungry fliers work it under a hot summer sun. Great Black Wasps have yet to return. Just a hint of the much hyped great cicada invasion.
Ants, we've enough of. Most everything else continues apace.
In the world at large, drought busting rains of late June helped turn early July's prairie robust.
Happily, I made it out and about in time for the season's last wild roses.
Lots of roses.
I found the prairie made so lush by rain and blazing sun that it can't be taken at a glance but to freeze it.
And even then...
When I was a kid on the 'empty' lots we called prairie, it was mostly the fauna that interested me, not the flora. Bugs and a multitude of other unmarked critters abound in the grass.
I knew those saw me. The plants not so much.
These days, flora breaks at least even.
The prairie is at once sharp-edged and soft.
Elegant.
Riotous.
The prairie overflows with a rich diversity of life. So by any measure that matters, is wonderous.
Whether in the northwoods or on the grasslands, my primary land-looking directive has always been simple.
If open water's suspected back there, try and push through to see it.
Because you can just never tell.
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