The Milkweed 



THE singular hospitality of our milkweed blos- 

 som is nowhere matched among Flora's min- 

 ions, and would seem occasionally in need of su- 

 pervision. 



Just outside the door here at my country stu- 

 dio, almost in touch of its threshold, year after 

 year there blooms a large clump of milkweed 

 {Asclepias cornuta), and, what with the fragrance 

 of its purple pompons and the murmurous music 

 of its bees, its fortnight of bloom is not permitted 

 to be forgotten for a moment. Only a moment 

 ago a whiff of more than usual redolence from 

 the open window at which I am sitting reminded 

 me that the flowers were even now in the heyday 

 of their prime, and the loud droning music be- 

 tokened that the bees were making the most of 

 their opportunities. 



Yielding to the temptation, I was soon stand- 

 ing in the midst of the plants. The purple fra- 

 grant umbels of bloom hung close about me on 

 all sides, each flower, with its five generous horns 



