PLANTS ON THE MOVE 187 



AUGUST 

 II 



PLANTS ON THE MOVE 



ON the rocky scarp of my mountain where I 

 lie and watch the bees busy at the thyme 

 there is a gentle breeze moving. I look down 

 at the village almost a mile below as the stone 

 drops, and pity the people who must stew in a 

 currentless shimmer. There comes up ever so 

 gently on the ascending warmth an airy white 

 flake, so airy that I can only see it when it gets a 

 dark mass behind it, such as a cavity in the rock 

 or a juniper bush. The little balloon, wavering 

 hither and thither, steers on the whole a straight 

 course almost to my feet, where a sharp edge of 

 rock catches it for a moment, knocks off its tiny 

 hanging car, and lets the rest bound up and fly 

 on through the blue mountain sky. 



The car of the balloon which has fallen at the 

 foot of the stone that dislodged it is the fruit of a 

 lowland thistle come all this way to establish a 

 new sept far from the maternal tree. You might 

 tell what species it belonged to by the structure of 



