indian pipes

Living in the dark woods these flowers without chlorophyll are sometimes mistaken for fungi.

In shining groups, each stem a pearly ray
Weird flecks of light within the shadowed wood,
They dwell aloof, a spotless sisterhood.
No Angelus, except the wild bird’s lay,
Awakes these forest nuns; yet night and day,
Their heads are bent, as if in prayerful mood.
A touch will mar their snow, and tempests rude
Defile; but in the mist fresh blossoms stray
From spirit-gardens, just beyond our ken.
Each year we seek their virgin haunts, to look
Upon new loveliness, and watch again
Their shy devotions near the singing brook;
Then, mingling in the dizzy stir of men,
Forget the vows made in that clustered nook.

- Mary Potter Thacher Higginson (1844-1941)

Duncan Crevice Caves Conservation Area.