The bluebell gets the headlines, but for me, the earlier snow-drifts of Wood Anemone, ๐ด๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐, are just as impressive. Being closer to the ground, they hug the contours, true to the ground.
But why windflower? In English we often have fanciful names for plants, and this one is anchored firmly in Greek myth. The anemone sprang from the blood of Adonis, loved by Aphrodite and lost too soon, gored by a wild boar. The flowers were said to be so fragile that the wind would scatter them almost as soon as they appeared. Like Adonis, their beauty is fleeting.
But thereโs something not very obvious about the flower. Most will see six petals, occasionally seven or eight, like in the image. But they are not petals.
๐ ๐ช๐ฎ๐ข๐๐ค ๐๐จ๐ญ๐๐ง๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐๐ฌ๐ฌ๐จ๐ง
Most flowers have sepals and petals. The former are usually green and together they form a protective sheath around the emerging bud, called the calyx. The petals are the parts we see, usually. Buttercups and roses are clear examples of this structure.
The Wood Anemoneโs flower structure consists only of sepals, no petals. These are the white โpetalsโ you see.
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In northern European folklore, such brief, low-growing white flowers were often read as threshold plants. Not quite here, not quite elsewhere. They appear in that narrow window when light still reaches the forest floor, before the canopy closes. A fleeting moment between states.
There are older beliefs too, such as that they should not be picked, or ill luck or storms would ensue. Marking places where something unseen passes or lingers, some say that the larger flowers are caused by a thinning between the faerie world and our own, their growth increased by underworld energies.
Now is about peak time to see them. Near me, the Drรจve des Oseraies, which runs between the Monument aux Forestiers and the รtang de la Patte dโOie, is a beautiful stretch to walk.