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.