Yesterday my garden was filled with naked ladies. Pink ladies danced in the breeze among elephant ears, beneath the protective leaves of banana trees.
It was only in May that they filled my beds with their thick, flat, green leaves while the ladies hid beneath the spring soil. Those leaves have been gone just long enough for me to forget their promised arrival. There has been no sign of my ladies for about a month. Now overnight they have awakened, poking pale pink arms through dry dusty clay. Pink blossoms appeared out of nowhere; pastel coiffures above long, thin, leafless stems like a hungry ballerina chorus, each dancer reaching above her head ready to sway to the music of garden.