Monday, November 28, 2011


Juan de Bermudez and a marauding band of merchant bankers discover a mysterious island, where out of limestone cracks and crevices spring scattershot cedars that grin and growl.

They soon arrive at the uneasy consensus that they are too late to claim the devil island as a new territory (the houses were not their first clue, but i do not wish to trouble the reader with the myriad of delusions that trouble the sleep of these brave men).

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Friday, November 11, 2011

This is like deja vu all over again

Don't you just hate it when cruise ships double park? Darned meter maid, dreaming meretritious dreams, missing what is as plain as the nose on a tourist's puffy, sun-flecked face.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Friday, October 28, 2011

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Colville's Glory

Colvillea racemosa on the Isle of Devils.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Pycnostachys reticulata - witch's hat

"pyknos" means dense - "stachys" means a spike - "reticulata" means a network (describing the underside of the leaf) It is a South African sage plant. It grows in swampy areas (I found out about this later... mine grows in a dry place!) .

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Friday, September 30, 2011

how improbable

Ceropegia stapeliiformis var stapeliiformis

Friday, September 23, 2011

A garden imagined

Finnegan Quidnunc cried in anguish. He had lost something which he was certain he would never regain. But what was it? A lithesome butterfly coquetting around the garden landed with such portent that he was inclined to think that it meant something. He studied meticulously, both day and night, a hance on the index finger of his left hand, and though slight, it made him believe that he was not the same person he was a fortnight ago. The gaunt shadow of a leafless tree swayed on the sun-bleached planks of a once russet shed. Scud and dark-lined clouds, late for their next appointment, dashed overhead. Finnegan Quidnunc was an optimistic chap; he stretched his arms, rubbed his wiry beard, and sat on an old tree stump with a conquering air. Later, when a few drops of rain would stipple his broad forehead, he would seek out his easel, his chalk, a sanguine crayon, and begin to mercilessly imagine the world.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Hidden Lily

Curcuma roscoeana

Friday, September 16, 2011

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Sunday, July 10, 2011