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The mystical beauty of flowers

An orchid growing with the promise of a rich flowering life in my workroom; a fellow Traminer gardening to put on a display for passers-by — the love and appreciation for flowers, both within and outside, makes me wish their beauty mattered to more people

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My sighting of the first Oleander of the season. Pic/Rosalyn D’Mello

My sighting of the first Oleander of the season. Pic/Rosalyn D’Mello

Rosalyn D’melloI returned to the rain-drenched, cloud-immersed Alpine landscape of South Tyrol on Monday, having taken the early morning train from Venice. When I got to my writing room I gasped at the sight of one Orchid in full bloom. The plant was a wedding gift from the restaurant where we hosted lunch after the Nuptials. It had one long stalk with gorgeous white blooms, with a yellow smudge around the core of each.

It was only in February that the plant was finally bereft. In this new form, the orchid seemed uncanny to behold. I had come to perceive the white, waxy, labial flowers as a kind of still life. Mid-December they had begun to wither, one by one, at first drying up, then falling into the wrought-iron basket that holds the container with the snaky roots. I grew apprehensive. I felt like the plant was now entrusting me with its existence.

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