My three year old self wanted to be a flower. Couldn’t my mother, a keen gardener, just plant and water me somewhere with sufficient sunshine?
No one explained ‘impossible’.
Later I fell under the spell of orchids. Imagination loved the bee, native wasp and ant seduced by appearances, deranged by design and wrapped up in the wisdom of soft petals.
The twenties were romanced by bunches from those seeking to practice pollination.
By mid-thirties, subtropical and tulip surprises erupted from fecund earth.
Mid-life epiphany: I am succulent. Tough, prickly and enduring with low upkeep. When I flower, I am spectacular.