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 



