Ignore the Catholic appropriation. The Candida lily has been a symbol
of the Feminine divine since the beginning of recorded history and has featured in
the art and literature of many traditions right up to the present day.
In life it is a choosy little beast, its squat, pallid, broad-beamed bulbs demanding certain, largely mysterious, conditions before it will settle in and send up those lissome lime green spires that promise so much in the drowsy heat of midsummer. The first one opened yesterday; light is everything when you're shooting white flowers and the Lovely R scampered up to the vegetable slash rose garden in the evening to get this lovely pic.
The scent contains a single brightly honied note, deeply dewy-sweet, like something dripping from your lips and fingertips.
The smell of Aphrodite's naked wrists.
I'll stop shoving flowers up your arse and get back to the regular-type posting next week. Probably. You're welcome.