Sunday, December 28, 2008

My Father's Flowers Are Always With Me

This is the chair everybody is ready to fight for. It stands right at the edge of the verandah overlooking the green valley. It is a dreamer's place and it has two beautiful arm-rests to place a cup of coffee or a glass of wine on top. It is my father's chair.
Once a year my father comes from a colder Northern country to visit me. He knows the secret life of plants.

Once here, he plants and replants, transfers flowers and bushes from one place to another, talks to them and convinces them that they should grow where he places their roots in the grounds. He heals and cures the damage inflicted to the plants through my neglect during the year.

He made the lavender and roses grow into giants in the shortest of time.

My father's flowers are always there and remind me of him when he's gone.

I found these little fellows in a junk shop in town.

My family and the friends, who have been staying in December with me for a while know him or her. The Flamboyant in my garden " called Auguste ". Him or her, well, because somebody explained to me that this tree can be male and female at the same time. Not a bad choice I think. But I like to think of Auguste as a male.
Every year when the South African summer approaches, after windy and stormy days, he delivers the same spectacular unfolding. Auguste, against an azure-blue sky and becomes blindingly and inimitabably beautiful in his bright red flower dress. He enchants us.
Auguste is particular about the way he blossoms. Starting on one side, he blossoms in a very orderly manner from one side to the other. No, it is not a simple tree like the others. It's Auguste. He takes all the time that is necessay to become beautiful.

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