and spectacular up close.
In Praise of Allium by Denise Levertov No one celebrates the allium. The way each purposeful stem ends in a globe, a domed umbel, makes people think, 'Drumsticks,' and that's that. Besides, it's related to the onion. Is that any reason for disregard? The flowers – look – are bouquets of miniature florets, each with six elfin pointed petals and some narrower ones my eyes aren't sharp enough to count, and three stamens about the size of a long eyelash. Every root sends up a sheaf of sturdy ridged stems, bounty to fill your embrace. The bees care for the allium, if you don't – hear them now, doing their research, humming the arias of a honey opera, Allium it's called, gold fur voluptuously brushing that dreamy mauve.



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