I never get tired of looking at the majestic Hibiscus flower in all its various diaphanous colours.
There are a lot of hibiscus plants in Central America. You can spot them growing along the sides of roads like forlorn weeds. They adorn fences and hedges like brilliant scarves of warming colours. They tenaciously display themselves in dusty, overgrown lots for all the world to admire.
Some hibiscus are used for making herbal teas, some for making jams. In Polynesia the fibers in the bark are used for making grass skirts and wigs. Some natives of southern India use the flowers for hair care. It is even used as offerings to goddesses in the Hindu worship. Amazing. Not just another pretty flower.
I pass by one particular plant everyday on my journey to exploring my new community. We have grown accustomed to seeing each other, and I have grown into an admirer of hers. She lets me fumble my attempts with a clunky camera to try and capture some of the essence of her. Her spirit. She never fails to delight me and lift my selfness, in a world where she is not nurtured, tended to, caressed or particularly loved overly much. In spite of all that, she stands tall and brilliant and still puts the show on to say "I am here, and I am still beautiful. If you choose to look, you can share my secrets, too."
I am learning her secrets.