I’ll be the first to admit that it scares me to death when I think about it. I’ve written more than one morbid poem inspired by it. And when I hear or read: “It’s just a part of life,” I don’t feel any better about it. But there is something about it that’s very intriguing.
Perennials go through a stage called dormancy during winter, so they’re not really dead. Healthy and long-lasting old shrub roses seem to be immortal, I know of one that’s been around at least 150 years.
You don’t see many photographs of spent flowers, either annuals or perennials. I guess they might be considered ugly or unsightly, but are they really?
I usually wait until the first snows fly before I cut any of the dried brown stuff. Last year, the Jays were late getting to the sunflowers, so I left them standing through January. Sometimes I’m even lazier and don’t bother with it till after the spring thaw. Y’all may be more or less vigilante about such things. (I saw Jays hang upside down to get at the sunflower seeds; you’d think there’d be an easier meal somewhere else.)
Basically, the term “dying back” means that a plant, typically a perennial, stops producing flowers in order to store energy in its below ground body that will help it live through winter. Perennials show off for a few months in summer then starting about late September, seem in a rush to be done with it.
We’re having a string of warm days with plenty of sunshine. But you’d think the perennials don’t want no more to do with it. I suppose they’re more intent on storing starch right now, regardless of what we’d rather see them do.
Here’s some poetry. Morbid? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just dying back.
Zombie Lovers
Could I go on
without feeling the loss,
if it never got broken,
wasn’t open to pain,
if it didn’t pump blood
would hurt go away?
If emotional strife
would leave it alone,
and it could do what
needed done,
would tears never fall,
cries go unheard?
I imagine a day
feeling nothing,
just being, existing.
Would zombie love
be better than nothing?
TC Conner Photography 