Oh，falling leaves, wild plum flowers, white petals, brighter than fresh flowers on the land; Small and white blossoms, bunches and bunches, tight and open, one cluster to another, almost touching both. How the Azaleas could make such a Spring story with all the falling petals, red on the earth, such a fresh, fancy carpet? More Brilliant than the Poppy flowers for the young soldiers, a celebration of love and passion, while the Poppy is so fragile, so lonely.
Passing by a young man, whose pocket with two pinky purple magnolia flowers’ heads showing through the light blue costume, his light smile, such a romance.
The coral tree, red with bird’s beak, high on the King’s volcano. There are actually two, facing each other, embracing the red roofs of the Eden village, the last remains of the ocean of life. 3 months to Christmas, they are the fore messengers of the Puhutukawa.
Rustic Mt Albert, all the way canal leads to the foot of the hill. Secluded ball field crowned with sunset, long grass, rocky stones, such a gorgeously wild area.
Thinking back the Jazz band, flowered maids in the Cornwall park, spring indeed comes with the last blossom of daffodil.