New York: one woman, one terrace, twelve seasons.
i love this...beautiful.
Pity (or not!) the poor love-starved night-flying moth who receives the signal...being called to the Lily's sultry shores by the Sirens. Then again...said moth will live to fly again another day, just carrying a load of pollen to the next lily...so forget my silly attempt at sinister allegory!
I've seen the drops, the excretions of the lily.
thanks for the inspiration, I've decided to pass it on in my blog. Let me know if you'd prefer me to remove any of the pics (I saw your copyright notice).http://southofthesahara.blogspot.com/2009/07/visual-feast.html
Thank you, dear Oiseau.Paula - poor moths. I think they get quite drunk.Frank - wow...funny I only noticed it this year.KBD - no, not stealing; that's just borrowing, with interest: thank you very much
I haven't noticed, just started growing these after all, till you said.I touched it this evening- sticky like syrup and smells like, I dunno- sunscreen, cocoa butter or some other thing for the skin.
Beautiful! Especially the first photo--very Georgia O'Keeffe-y. Verging on pornographic but not quite over the line.