Suddenly, I find myself alone in an orchid garden, a garden that is the whole world, a grandiose, boundless construction built to feature but one orchid elucidated in the cosmic glow… At its centre emerges the labellum, sensuous and pink, its lobes frilled with intricate ruching and folds.
This (unambiguous) orchid vision, hallucination, or dream, or all three, is what inspired the book cover and many imagery in the book throughout. It dominates the whole composition looming over it, pink and resplendent, so whenever you hold the book in your hands and look at the cover, you know what’s staring back at you.
Around us, there’s a narrow and long public garden where, lanterned, grow various flora: camellias, roses, daffodils, lavender, hydrangeas, peonies, daisies, tulips, ferns, climbing ivy, jasmine, rhododendrons (lots of ‘em), wisteria, azaleas, chrysanthemums, lilacs, marigolds, irises, begonias, violets, cyclamens, heather, foxgloves, pansies, sage, more-of and more-poisonous yew, cypress, rosemary, juniper, fuchsia, dahlias, petunias, anemones, aster, zinnias, cosmos, verbena, and maybe some others I can’t recognise, for I’m not a botanical expert.
