Last week the trees were covered in basic green and were largely invisible against the dappled background of early Spring but now they just can't be ignored. The colour of the flowers is the palest, most gorgeous purple but, as more and more florets start to blossom and the whole canopy becomes covered, you can't help but be taken aback by the display. 

The color hovers incandescantly at the edge of your vision like the shadow of an evil temptress in a 50's film noir. It's deliciously pretty but terribly sickening at the same time. Like Audrey Hepburn in 'Breakfast at Tiffanys' there is grace, charm and wit but there is also that "momma-get-me-off" bad trip overtone only found on late 60's psychedelic album covers. 

And they're in all the places that you can't believe them to be in. From my kitchen window I have seen an unmistakably large one magically appear in the middle distance that I'm absolutely certain wasn't there last year. They must propagate like massive green blow flies hovering over a pile of rancid meat or, more likely, like those filthy, virus-riddled bunny rabbits roaming the outback looking for another desultory shag. 

There's a story I heard once (quite true apparently) about a maternity nurse at Sutherland Hospital. She would give a Jacaranda seedling to each and every mother whose child she helped to deliver. The proud parents would take these home and dutifully plant them in honour of their newborn child. The nurse was there for many, many years and, every Spring, would go to the roof of the Hospital, look out over the surrounding suburbs and survey a veritable sea of mauve. Most people would think of this as a cheerful, good-time story that would fit in nicely at the end of the 6:30 news but I, instead, see the kernel of Rosemary's Baby all over again. Just think of all those children denoted by this eye watering plant from hell! 

One day, when the human race is at it's final ebb, we'll rue our flirtation with the Jacaranda : Oh so lovely but oh so horribly wrong.