Plant Sex

Maybe it is just me *smirk* but plant sex still astounds me. I mean, we get lots of motion and grace (sometimes) and sweat and pushing and pulling and sounds and slurpy goodness from human sexuality, but when I look at the silent, reverant process of plants reproducing I am in awe.

One brief touch of a milkweed pod like this causes the spewing forth of bunches of seeds, each equipped with gossamer wings to carry it far and wide to a new birthing place. The ripening of the seed pods and the pollinating of the stamens and pistils, the acorns dropping, the wing dings making their helicopter flight to the ground, all of these relate to a never ending need to keep going, keep growing, keep your tribe alive and in a place of prosperity.

I wish I could drop like a chestnut, shedding my spiny shell, revealing my marbled and glistening, almost oily, surface inside.

I wish I could release my heart like this milkpod sends its issue forth, tossed into the wind, so easily.

I wish I could feel the gentle rub of a beloveds touch, gathering my granules of desire and carrying them to other places, forseeing a gentle, sprouting tendril for Spring.

In this time of Harvest, gather what you will and take what you need, but stop along the way to sing praises to the plants who are crazily thrashing, or silently whispering their sex right before you.

Look. Listen. Feel.