Eating Flowers.

One of  my writing exercises, talks about memories that flowers can bring back to you. It asks you to find the same plant and then use your five senses, to write about your reaction to those memories.
One of my earliest memories is of the large frangipani tree, beside my mum's bedroom window. Mum would often break pieces of and give them to friends and family, I think she took a few pieces when we moved but I'm not sure.
Thick branches, like these, were ideal for climbing, ( told not to but did it anyway). I can remember the rough texture of them and how they would sometimes look firm but be really soft and would break, underfoot. I did fall out of the tree, once and cut the inside of my thigh, a long thin cut that required many Band-Aids. I wore that scar with pride.

When a piece was broken off, it oozed a very sticky, milky white sap, that took ages to wash off. Probably poisonous as well! 

Elongated, glossy leaves formed a shady canopy, that I played under. Creamy white flowers, with yellow centres that are on a long stem, bloom in summer. I can't describe the smell, tart, not sweet but one I can pick, any where.
Deciduous, they are stark in winter, all rough limbs, waiting for the warmth of spring.
50 years ago, I was my sister's bridesmaid and carried a bouquet of frangipani flowers and had a circlet of them in my hair.
Still one of my favourite flowers, I haven't had success in trying to grow one.
Bye for now,


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