When I was walking in the UC Davis Arboretum on 18 October, with fellow blogger Steve Schwartzman and his wife, who stopped by to visit—a watched a drama unfold among the grape vines, hidden in plain sight.
Picture this: a tender blade of grass swaying innocently in the October breeze. Enter the tendril—red-green, wiry, deceptively delicate. It creeps forward with purpose, curling like a witch’s finger. One twist. Two. Three. Before long, our poor grass is trussed up like a mummy at a botany-themed Halloween party.
Grapevines are patient villains. They take their time, plotting silently while pretending to be wholesome symbols of abundance and fine wine. By the time you notice what’s happened, the grass is gone—absorbed into the vine’s spiraling empire.
Honestly, I expected to hear tiny screams.
So this Halloween, skip the haunted houses. Step into your garden at twilight instead. You might catch a glimpse of something truly chilling: the slow, green grasp of nature itself. And if a tendril brushes your ankle—don’t scream. Just back away quietly… or risk becoming part of next year’s vintage.
My images of tendrills:
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Wall Art landscapes and miscellaneous
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It is all about the light 
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