I've spent the day running behind. Overslept (not uncommon) but then we had company and the rest of the day has sort of felt like I'll never catch up. As I type the mercury sits at eighty-two degrees; not uncomfortable thanks to a warm gentle wind and, as the afternoon wears on, clouds--probably the leading edge of that front that's drowning Arkansas--are beginning to pile up and will bring rain by morning.

Even with gas at the outrageous prices it's at, today would have been a good day for a long ride through the back country. Sound silly? Yes, but for this: this time of year, for no more than a couple of weeks, fire pinks are blooming.

Fire pink (Silene virginica) is a misnomer; they actually are a bright red, and it's said the name "pink" refers to the fact that the edges of the petal look as if they've been notched with pinking shears. They grow in the woods and on the sides of the roads, especially in places where shade holds moisture to the ground. They have five petals that splay out from a tubular center, and are sometimes called "catchfly" because that center is like--Velcro, like the sticky little pelt of a Venus flytrap or a pitcher plant, and flies and other insects can sometimes get caught (but not eaten! fire pinks aren't carnivorous).



Fire pinks aren't common right here around the house. The place where I've found the most blooming in one place is a stretch of road at the back of beyond in a little knob community called Cane Creek. When the road was cut through there, it left high banks with shade from oaks and maples on one side and the creek itself off down a slope on the other. The fire pinks peek out of the moss and wild grasses under the oaks and maples along the banks.

This year, I'm not going to get to see those unexpected little red stars--but I can look at pictures. They do my soul good.

And on that wistful note, fair thee well.