—a typo that rhymes with summer. Summer now is fast becoming a memory down here.
growling through Invercargill with a wary eye out for seasons I came across—in Windsor—this ‘barbarous relic’ of the halcyon days of empire; soon to be replaced by a schlogg of old fern and some very significant (to someone) black and white bits. Be that as it may, this then is the season for revamping flagging national pride.
Sure, it looks a bit tatty and ratty but that’s what happens to much loved flags. This seems once again to be the season for attacking our own flag here in New Zealand—replacing the flag pops up as an issue of Parliamentary importance every couple of decades. All good clean fun and keeps some Prime Ministers in a job … briefly, I hope.
I WAS WALKING
through the park one day, in the very merry month of Feb, when I was taken by surprise by an incredible scent that zonked me fair in the hooter; a full broadside of olfactory erotic delights that left my personal ship dismasted and swooning in the water.
All I saw when I peered round were blasted flowers, roses by the gazumtillion, all approaching their eat-by date. Late in the season, you see … but eventually (actually in no time at all) I was lured by the siren song of this wee beauty—
—and let me tell you the photo does her no favours at all. The scent sublime, the very petals masterpieces of velvet that challenged and overcame my abilities as a shutterbug. Beat the camera too, but a car is only as good as its driver, no?
IN VAIN I
tried to stop myself tearing off petals for The Spouse, later; and diverted my amorous lusts instead to the task of finding her name. To not digress, the Wehrmacht (okay—bits of it) had a marching song called ‘Erica’ that was named after a heather (plant). Had they but named it after this rose they might yet have conquered the world.
eventually I moved on and was captivated by a wee butterfluff on a bloom. Flower. With a not too powerful a zoom on my camera I was forced to the old arm’s length and wishful thinking technique but scored enough shots that I could blow ’em up in iPhoto later. Here’s yer bug—
—as first seen, and here’s same guy/ette after moving to another branch where it posed long enough for a quickie clickie—
—before flapping off to wherever flutterbyes go for afternoon naps and a quick cup of nectar.
in itself because down here in Southland all I’ve seen all summer in the butterfly sphere has been no end of cabbage whites. This one is pretty near the first colourful BF all summer (for me); and quite possibly the last this season.
PS that rose (which by any other name would smell as sweet) is called ‘Erotica‘ …