Behold the invasive water hyacinth, grown safely only in lined containers that do not allow for spread. Not that it’s all the dangerous in these parts; our winters guarantee annual death. It’s so pretty, I couldn’t resist taking a few pics of it at the local nursery. It grows in water, so we don’t have any appropriate space for it, not that I would mess around with something this invasive. It’s a glorious embodiment of summer in these parts, all tropical color and thunder, dangerous and pretty all at the same time. And it brings to mind this summer song by R.E.M. which I’ve always loved:
Charades, pop skill
Water hyacinth, named by a poet
Imitation of life
Like a koi in a frozen pond
Like a goldfish in a bowl
I don’t want to hear you cry
At the time of this writing, summer has been a fickle thing – three days of cool and rainy weather following by three days of unbearably hot an humid weather – and no happy medium whatsoever. It’s a rollercoaster of weather that is wreaking havoc across the country, uniting Americans in emotional upheaval. Just what we need. But this is summer, and so we focus on what is pretty, and what is beautiful, and what is on the sunny side of the street.
That’s sugarcane that tasted good
That’s cinnamon, that’s Hollywood
C’mon, c’mon no one can see you try
My favorite part of these water hyacinth blooms is the spot of yellow on the top petal of each. It is slightly iris-like in the way it’s painted on there, and it’s only on one petal per bloom, setting that petal apart from the rest, the way summer sometimes separates the rest from the weary. There is so much to do, no matter how exhausted we get, and never enough time to rest. It’s happy exhaustion, though, and I will not complain. That’s what winters are for.
You want the greatest thing
The greatest thing since bread came sliced
You’ve got it all, you’ve got it sized
Like a Friday fashion show teenager
Freezing in the corner
Trying to look like you don’t try
That’s sugarcane that tasted good
That’s cinnamon, that’s Hollywood
C’mon, c’mon no one can see you try
No one can see you cry
When there is no pool, or no air conditioning, or even the cooling relief of a cold shower, the mind is the only way to attempt to abate the heat. At such times, I think of the trickling sound of running water, the water that might be lapping around the leaves of the water hyacinth. I do not go to winter scenes of ice and cold, I recall the tropical tank of fish and plants that was in a strange little hotel in Chelsea, where my room was hot and stifling, despite a thunderous oscillating fan in the corner. In a windowed room off a landing, this glass tank in the shape of a hexagon sat in the middle of the floor, raised on a pedestal and lifted almost to eye-level. Goldfish swam there, in and around several clumps of green water plants. Water trickled down from a filter system, lending it a calm and tranquil feel. When I got too stuffy in my cramped room, I’d step out into the hallway and watch this scene of water, and it somehow managed to cool me. It’s how you beat the heat in New York: mind over matter.
This sugarcane
This lemonade
This hurricane, I’m not afraid
C’mon, c’mon no one can see me cry
This lightning storm
This tidal wave
This avalanche, I’m not afraid
C’mon, c’mon no one can see me cry
That sugar cane that tasted good
That’s who you are, that’s what you could
C’mon, c’mon on no one can see you cry
