84 A BUSH CALENDAR 



swayed on the end of slender stems, and the light soft breeze 

 turned all towards me. It was the wild parsnip, one of the 

 freest autumn flowerers. In bright contrast to its fragile 

 paleness, the deep pink stars of the crowea shone amongst the 

 grey rocks its favourite habitat. It has not yet reached its 

 zenith, and the unfolded buds lend a warm note of colour to 

 the scene. Beyond the rocks, but still in the picture, was a 

 thick clump of tea-tree covered with long flower-spikes of pink 

 and white blossom. Some of the bushes had nearly finished 

 blooming, and the bright red of their seeds made vivid contrast. 

 It was a corner that, in its delicacy of colouring, suggested 

 spring rather than autumn; but the supreme disregard for the 

 seasons is one of the chief charms of our bush flowers. Spring, 

 summer, autumn, or -winter, there are always some of them 

 making the land lovely with their sweetness and colour. 



In a very short time I had my arms as full as they would 

 hold. At least, I thought so, until I caught sight, just ahead, 

 of a tall banksia, covered with gorgeous flower-spikes, their 

 rich bronze-red glowing in the morning light. It was Banksia 

 ericifolia, one of the handsomest of the honeysuckles, or bottle 

 brushes as they are alternately called. There is, I think, no 

 more decorative plant in the bush than this particular banksia, 

 when the botttle brushes are newly-opened and the little hooked 

 styles are deep red with yellow tips. A bunch of them arranged 

 with their own green in a big bronze jar is a sight to gladden 

 a whole household, and whether they have the plain green paper 



