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March 23rd 2010    Tim Candler

    The bloom of Flowering Quince is running late.  I guess with plants it is their relationship with insects that field a higher importance.   Those of us who stump around in that catatonic way making observation, are by plants probably considered insincere and juvenile.   We are like the young people, pompous, ignorant and starved of reason.

    But Green Frogs, who emerged from the mud several weeks ago, can sit there like philosophers.   Their occasional call is an absolute "croak".   An old door slowly moving on its dying hinge.   I would like to think the Green Frogs are just hungry, or cold, or fed up.  But the odds are they are pursuing an argument which might soon advance sufficiently to result in tadpoles.

    Flowering Quince and Forsythia usually bloom together.   Their understanding of their place in the year is more likely uncontrived by wishes and hope and dreaming.   And we probably deem them mechanical in their attitudes, unfeeling in their resolve.   Absent a sentience we might understand.

    Then when we attach the word purpose to anything living a complexity arises that has caused too much confusion.        

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