Aloe polyphylla. I like some aloes, like those we had in the old house by the sea and flowered exhuberantly at Christmas, and remind me of wonderful childhood days in a beloved house. I have some on the Hill, and they are coming along, and, I hope, will one day cover the hillock by the gas shed and hide the shed from view. But this is a different species, visually much more akin to a cactus, and I don't like cactii. Someone gave it me, and I did what I do with unwanted gifts of its kind: I plant them somewhere inconspicuous, and leave them to their own devices. If they survive they may be deemed worthy of figuring in the overall scheme – and I may even grow to like them. Otherwise, it's curtains for them.
This one's been on the ground for almost ten years, and I'd all but forgotten about it when suddenly it flowered this June (I didn't even know it was supposed to flower, much less when). And I find myself growing fond of it – in the way one admires hardy creatures, which don't complain and just get on with their lives.
They say that patience is its own reward. Up to a point, Lord Copper. Sometimes flowers (or a
lonely cherry on a tree – or building a house at 50 after dreaming about it for one's whole life) are the reward for patience. The Fool is a patient man – who values discretion, hardiness, and constancy.
Welcome, little aloe, long may you prosper.
Colina, June '15
