Up there, in the deepest recesses of my brain, are memories of my childhood. And what shines bright on the scale of happiness are my thoughts of flowers.
I’ve already spoken of the purple pelargoniums and red geraniums of home, but there’s another vivid image to relate.
Just down the street from my childhood home lived my Aunty, Uncle and their family. Their front garden was dominated by a single tree: a massive, old-fashioned frangipanni.
What tree could herald the changes of the seasons more spectacularly? From a bare, statuesque framework in winter, as if my magic it became a richly perfumed fountain of gorgeous white and yellow flowers that fell to the ground. I loved to gather them up and take them home, where they found a second life in shallow float-bowls.
Do the kids of today still delight in such things? Or has technology swept them into a different world, and different values?