This morning, I walked down the path to my office in the woods, admiring the new carpet of green wood sorrel and duckfoot that’s emerged in the last month. Then, with the morning sun behind me, the sorrel at my feet glinted. I crouched down to peer more closely. Wood sorrel’s leaves are shaped like perfect hearts bent down the middle, just like the heart that a four-year-old cuts from construction paper, its fold line still intact. The leaves attach at the hearts’ points in clusters of three. For a few square feet this morning, last night’s dew had collected at the end of each fold line, tucked right in the cranny between the curves of each heart. Each wood sorrel plant held three perfect spheres of moisture, holding the morning’s light for a few moments.
Dear Julie, I found this (really nice) website when trying to track some contact information for family Jones. I lived with them ’92-93 in Virginia. I would be glad if I somehow found a way to contact Diana and Tom.
Thank you!
All the best, Kirsi