The ground-pecker is out back again, looking mildly like a mourning dove on steroids. How such a bird can survive in our backwoods filled with cats and an occasional fox, gods only know.
The forced freesias are finally blooming, palest white and flame-red, respectively. The downstairs hibiscus (the one which we got from a friend for my folks, but were never able to part with), is slowly setting itself up with another show of blooms. The false shamrock at its base is flaunting dozens of flowering stems. Perhaps, the latter's got a complex about being short.
A couple of the African Violets, from the batch which survived the cyclamen mite epidemic of '11, are blooming as well. They are "Playful Rainbow" and "Optimara Clementine", both of which need re-potting badly. Of one of the three non-bloomers is the same plant that I strongly suspect started the epidemic, a living sign that heat treatment works.
The amaryllis decided that it wanted to bloom again and put out a pompous-looking bud, while the monster in the bedroom, AKA the passionfruit, is still struggling to take over the world.
Meanwhile, here I sit, typing things about all those plants, and eating slightly overcooked artichoke (make that two) for breakfast. Makes one feel slightly sacrilegious.
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