The violence and grandeur of tulips and squirrels
We never know, from year to year, where they'll appear. It's the squirrels, you see. They dig out the bulbs in the fall and bury them and forget. Nature's gardeners, you could say, but not very organized. Not the most design-oriented either. This year it's a haphazard row of five—pretty, but laughably random.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe they get pissed off at themselves for their lack of landscaping skills, or lapses in memory. Who knows. But whatever the reason, they always take it out on those poor tulips. Just as they bloom, dotting our lawn in random streaks of reds and yellows, our first real taste of Spring...boom! Decapitated. And I can't decipher any purpose behind it. Perhaps they suffer from a bad case of Queen of Hearts syndrome.
This morning I picked up the fallen heads, carefully, delicately. I placed them on the table and grabbed my camera.
A few stills, before their colours fade.
