Twice yearly, for just a few faint weeks amid seasons of dry and thunderous wet, Lagos blossoms. With brave tenacity a rush of blooms spread ~ rare ~ delightful ~ pleasure over dusty chaotic of Africa’s largest city.

Patiently I wait, first months of fogging dust giving gingerly way to pelting heat ~ then colour, beauty declaration that the rain is coming to sweep the sands away.

You come to turn ear carefully for the first ominous claps of storm, sadly rushing to gather what might be salvaged before the hasty whirls crush petals into rivers of mud.

~ The last of my african crimson sets stage on my table ~