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| I do not usually let any of my Spring Onions go to seed. My grandaughter is intruiged with the shape, and is curious to see what the flower will look like. |
| This is my contribution to the City Daily Photo Monthly Theme Day. To see further contributions to the September Theme of "Curiosities" please visit the CDP Gallery This theme was chosen by William, who lives in Ottawa, Canada. He started Ottawa Daily Photo in September 2013. Please pay him a courtesy visit. |
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| `Curiouser and curiouser!' cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English) ... |
| What Alice said, indeed! This house is next door to that which I showed you yesterday. This one, however, has a heritage listing indicating value of a local variety. It is called "Roselea". It last traded in August 2007 for $794,000 and sits on 665 square meters of land. |
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| As Harper Lee described it, "The house was low, was once white with a deep front porch and green shutters, but had long ago darkened to the color of the slate-gray yard around it. Rain-rotten shingles drooped over the eaves of the veranda; oak trees kept the sun away. The remains of a picket drunkenly guarded the front yard - a 'swept' yard that was never swept - where johnson grass and rabbit-tobacco grew in abundance." |
| "To Kill a Mockingbird", Arrow Books (2010), P.9 |
| The drizzle persisted as I slipped across the road, keeping in the lee of the old gum. He did not appear to be aware of me, simply propping the rapid rail against the gutter, turning slowly on his worn, leathered heel, and disappearing through the slip-rail. He was non-descript, in the way that long-in-the-tooth academics of a classical bent could be said to favour: beige slacks, creme, grandfather shirt with narrow navy-and-grey stripes, buttoned to the throat, with the flimsiest whorls of mock-pearl. I followed, at a respectful distance, but was stopped in my tracks by the hot-house: a new structure, of shiny aluminium, and unstained shade-cloth. This was unexpected; I stepped back onto the crumbling footpath. Beyond the lychgate, and through the louvres, I could just discern, through the gloom of the afternoon, the most glorious, pristine-white Cymbidium ... |
| Robert Street, Willoughby Sunday |
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