Quite the most exciting flower to me in this week of spring awakening (think sudden flushes of pink, mauve, red and white as blossoms blossom and azaleas – well – do whatever azaleas do) has been the white watsonia outside the main bedroom. It started to flower last week as I took up residence there. It is beautiful, and I have no recall of ever seeing it before. That is really strange, for a year ago I spent more time looking out this window than any other, for I was nursing my mother who lay in the room.
The plant was there. Its bulk in the general composition of the view I well remember. But I was completely taken by surprise when it flowered white. So what colour was it before then? I have played with the idea from every angle. I remember the plant, I knew it is a watsonia; I do not recall its flower. My mother always had an off-beat sense of fun. I credit her for organising a bit of cosmic Alzheimer’s Lite.
About the rockery outside the main bedroom: it is a troublesome spot. The house is cut back into the hillside at this point. Facing slightly west of south (think north, up north!) the rockery is really only visible from the main bedroom, but there it forms the main view. It is constantly showered with eucalyptus leaves, making neatness nigh impossible. It receives little direct sun, and that always obliquely. It is always either overgrown with nondescript colonisers, or underplanted. It needs some dramatic treatment I think, but I don’t know what. But I’m tempted to put up colourful crafty panels of stained glass and mosaics and plant acanthus and such like. On the other hand, a garden that chases you up and out to start the day is not a bad thing, now is it?