THE LAST OF THE CAMELLIAS

It was such a mild winter that the camellias were fooled into  believing that Furball Cottage had moved south.  The three bushes in back and the one in front exploded in a riot of cool reds and hot pinks; so many blossoms that the boughs bent down  to the ground.  Last Sunday, with  temperatures close to 90 degrees in April, some of the branches came into the house to fill an old glass vase with their overblown beauty.  It was the best way to admire their spectacular show and to make sure that at least some of them would survive a little longer without the bruising and burning of the hot, unseasonal sun.  Drought has set in.  Who knows what next year will be like.  In the meantime, here they are, in all their splendor, filling the room with unequaled beauty.