Small blossom, big show

Ferron, the artist who seems to live like flotsam, pulled his bike into our gate, struggled up to the porch, shot the breeze a bit and finally asked if we could give him a coffee for refreshment.

I felt ashamed for not offering it to him earlier, but we had been talking about his VA clinic experiences, and the like.

He finally looked over the porch railing and noticed the pink mussaenda. I told him the big pink "petals" were actually bracts, and the little yellow things were in fact the flowers.

"Hm," he said.

Like poinsettias and bougainvillea, I said.

"Yes, like that," he said. And he went along on his bicycle.