The Valley...five hues of bougainvillea, ice-pick yucca, oleander sheathed in brake dust, a pink peppercorn you probably shouldn’t eat, a pointier acorn than you’re used to.
My tribute to L.A.’s plant saturnalia, where the sunlight, nitrogen and ill-gotten water flow freely, where it never frosts, where the least hospitable patch of asphalt is shaded by the largest fig tree you’ve ever seen.
There’s no place like it; there shouldn’t be another. But for now, stick your face in the fence jasmine.
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