Agapanthus

Leonardo waited for the loud bright day to pass. Leonardo preferred evening, when colours turned deep, relaxing in the cool. Turned from its sky-blue tassels, agapanthus is almost purple come evening. Nightfall will do the rest. You need to sharpen your instrument and dip it in ink. Fine brushes please, with lapis lazuli and ultramarine in mind for paint mixes. Rayed bodies of petals require space. Observe physics. Edge lines, crosshatch shadow, leave leaf crests a touch of absence. Underline background directions, infer natural movements with overlays. That’s how Leonardo drew agapanthus. I just took a picture on my phone. 

Agapanthus (December)

In southern Australia the agape lily blooms in December. Eros sets the scene in the Christmas stories, the need to make a census of every body, Herod’s insatiable desire for everything, our self-interested survival. While the scenes themselves are miracle plays of agape. A young woman selflessly gives herself to the unknown good. Shepherds go spontaneously, without question, to see what’s going on here. Way-out people act unconditionally, giving peculiar gifts God actually gave them first. The Jews who wrote these Greek stories weren’t splitting hairs. Someone showed them how to surrender and love others purely for who they are.

Agapanthus (September)

 Plush leaves of plump clumps line a ‘difficult’ patch of garden, fill out medians of main roads, fountainous roundabouts. Bone-white stems survive, top ends bone-white sprays of popped dried fibre. Black seedpods, some remain trapped inside, windy rain will dislodge by September. It’s a sight winter enjoys on private walks. Gone their skyblue flowers. Long ago as last summer. Low maintenance, but council gardeners must snap them out soon. Enough’s enough. Dock them. The ‘we want’ public demands green plush, plump clumps with starry azure Christmas dangles, for its peripheral vision. Weeds, on the other hand, unsightly. Drive by quick.