I now take it for granted that there is more life in the desert than in any lusher greener place I call home. My sister managed this shot in her backyard last week.
She describes the scene:
"Not only this one was in the garden, but another swooped in to try to overtake him. They duked it out for the briefest of moments. I wasn't able to capture that. But I did get this little drink at the fountain."
The bedrock underlying Manhattan is tenacious enough that many streets north of Harlem and far into the Bronx end in stairways. The precipitous topography outlived efforts to dynamite it.
My block has a few flights of cement pedestrian steps where Pinehurst Street gets too steep to be a road. This stretch of stairs is dominated each April by a large 15 year old Wisteria vine. The Garden club put a sign up to describe it:
"This beautiful wisteria vine came from a 6" plant grown from seed by the late Sona Kunter. It survived the 2001-2002 reconstruction of the steps and garden because Sona stopped by every day to remind the workers to take care of it. Please don't pick the flowers -- they don't survive off the vine!"