Cottonwood

It is the season of blowing cottonwood seeds. After one night in our apartment over a garage, I know that I will be spending time sweeping up dust bunnies of seed fluff. We love opening the windows without screens.

It makes sense that there are lots of cottonwood trees, or specifically here, black poplars. They thrive where they can have damp roots. We are staying in a town where the Morava flows into the Danube. Below the bluffs, there is plenty of wetland, plenty of cottonwood. 

I am thinking about this place. Across either the Danube or Moravia is Austria. In her information book, my Airbnb host talks about the medieval castle ruins on the cliff over looking the confluence. "Prior to 1989, the Iron Curtain between the Eastern Bloc and the West ran just in front of the castle. Although the castle was open to the public, the area surrounding it constituted a restricted military zone, and was heavily fortified with watchtowers and barbed wire. After the Velvet Revolution the area was demilitarized." 

I'm sure they could not stop the cottonwood seed fluff from blowing from one side to another. 

I offer the view of the sleepy neighborhood from the bathroom window.