This plant is killing me about eight different ways, right now.
(zoom way in--the blossoms are amazing)
All I can do is ogle and shoot.
Tiny peeks at large flowers through layers of yucca swords.
The ultimate flirt.
From hundreds of square miles of parched, scratchy scrub,
in a singularly shade-free landscape,
spring these succulent, glistening flowers,
glowing high, out of reach,
a calm center in a whorl of yucca swords.
This plant is a siren.
The yucca I know (Yucca schidigera, in California) has an anti-coagulant in it,
which I learned the first (and last) time
I was careless enough to get stabbed by one.
In the micro second between getting stabbed in the hand,
and looking at my wound,
a thick stream of blood had already flowed to my wrist.
Got my attention.
If the yucca in Big Bend NP are at all like those at home,
not only might most sad, parched little land animals
never get to the flowers,
but they may bleed to death at her feet for their efforts.
Sirens don't show mercy.
Yuccas don't weep for thirsty mammals.
Sirens and yuccas need what they need,
and if you are not it,
best just accept it and move on.
It's not about you.