My mother planted Yucca flowers next to my mail box this summer. (Plant exchanges and free seed fairs result in a lot of gardening whims and botanic surprises in my family.) I didn't notice right away. But then they bloomed. During an extreme drought that made the Periwinkle and Virginia Creeper show signs of wilt. These tall, elegant clusters of blooms brought out a smile every time I passed them, when other plants surrendered to lack of water and went dormant till next year.
Meanwhile, the Sunflowers bloomed. And bloomed. And bloomed. Each year I'm stunned anew at how many shades of yellow there can be in one small patch of flowers. And at how long these glories last. I am not at all surprised these flowers were/are considered grave flowers by the Kaw Nation (the people whose stolen ancestral land I live on) and as a connection to those who are gone.
And I remembered the stories of Native American flutes being made from
hollowed out stalks of Yucca flowers and Sunflowers. Sometimes, flies or
bees burrow into the stalks and partly hollow them out before they are
picked for flute making. Making the flute a joint creation of the plant,
the insects and people.
When a flute is played, vibrations can be felt under your fingers. Life pulsing through the instrument for as long as your breath lasts. Dissipating into the air after the final cadence. Scattering like seeds back into the earth. Waiting for the next rain to bloom all over again.