Uncommonly strong, it stays purple, while elsewhere the street is lined with debris from seasons which the trees soon forgot. Confused fig-leaves turn golden, drop to the ground as rain gushes gutters and sunscreen, umbrellas, opposites, swap in uncertain hands – yet lilac and stoic at the end of my street Jacaranda declares it is summer.
I love Jacarandas. There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a carpet of purple blossoms or seeing dozens of these gorgeous trees peeping over the roofs of houses.
Me too! The jacaranda on my street has made me happy every time I have come home from work these last couple of weeks.