Chickory.

Although I gravitate to the little things in nature, I’m an easy mark for the bigger things which exhibit some less common trait.  To my eye, Chickory fits that bill – although it grown chest high in this area, its individual blossoms are spectacular in their simplicity:

There’s a purity of form to this flower, a simplicity of line and clarity of color which captivates me every summer.

Here’s a crop which illustrates what I mean:

There’s something about this flower’s structure which evokes urbanity.  Perhaps it’s the echo of flourescent “black light” tubes from my wilder past; perhaps it’s the rectilinearity of its stamens, exploding radially with a conviction seldom found in us “higher forms.”  Perhaps it’s its color, pure to the eye but not easily described.

These were abuzz with life, sating the thirst for nectar of all manner of flying things.  Honey bees abounded, but they moved on so quickly that I couldn’t get a shot of one.  The little flies, however, lingered longer, and my big brother, God bless him,  enticed one to sit on his knuckle while I immortalized it on e-celluloid:

This little bugger’s well dusted with chickory pollen.  Thank you, little fly, for doing your part to keep the world turning.