ERIO

Cluster upon cluster of anemones spray a hidden corner with their flowers, all striving for the sun. Startled and color-struck by this precocious display, people wait and watch a while. Some see bright windmills, petals spinning. Others, a parade of parasols leaning in the late autumnal heat. Or are they – yes? – ceremonial buttons, fragile, luxuriant, styled for an Empress? From memory, one idler names them ‘Eriocapitella’ and they turn on the breeze, as if in answer. A young girl kneels, thumbing their sueded blooms, their velvet center. And, when a few stray raindrops arrive, she watches their colours, all luscious and smudging in her small hand.

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