Mr. Fennel.

For a couple of days, there was a cap on the ground on the route that I take every day with my dogs. The cap was not really comfortable, that’s why I hadn’t taken a picture of it until now.
It was too flat and looked like it had just blown off someone’s head. It lacked poetry. It was a stranger and was not yet able to reconcile well with the landscape into which it had fallen.

I thought I’d let him acclimatize before taking a picture of him. Otherwise, it didn’t feel right. The fabric on the cap was still too new and the earth had not yet worked itself into the stitching.
So I thought I’d better let it mature for a while.

And now!!! What happened here? Today I walk past the familiar place and expect “my” cap to have a somewhat weathered look. And it suddenly appears that someone, perhaps the owner, has picked it up and placed it on a wild fennel.

So someone else has been here, noticed the cap, picked it up, and raised its spot. It’s a bit like Snow White’s dwarfs who suddenly realize that someone ate from their plate while they were gone.

The person himself is absent, but the traces are still visible. And it’s as if the fennel itself picked up the cap and put it on. The wild fennel has become civilized. Lord Fennel has transformed himself into a persona. A silent watcher who lets the world blow through his being.