Of plants, I mean, of course. Which is to say, around this time every year I get all deranged about the flowers and inflict loads of pictures of them on you. If this sort of photographic cliché offends or (worse) bores you, stop right now and move on to the next blog.
My florals are getting a little on the kinky side. I can’t not take pictures of them, but since I’ve taken the obvious ones for lo these many years, I’m really trying for something different, which leads to some distinctly odd colors and textures.
This tulip was caught under the rhubarb bush, with sun coming through the green and the pink. In mid-April, the rhubarb is definitely ready to go; we had a lovely crumble this evening after dinner.
The magnolia remains the single most-photographed specimen in this place. I can’t resist it, even when, as here, imperfect.
Now let’s go all conventional and do some cheery tulip shots.
These, in a few days will, be dazzlingly-bright azalea blossoms, which together with a couple of million more will turn the bush into a solid blob of red so brilliant that no camera sensor has a hope. They’re small; this is a pretty extreme close-up.
And here’s a tulip that’s just thinking of opening. When it does, it’ll be just another among dozens.