T here is a large plant outside the apartments where I Inhabitant who seems bewildered to find his way there. In Mexico, yes; in West London, not so much. Its leaves look like the tongues of large lizards.eants, with thorny edges and nasty spikes at the ends. This summer, from their fierce environment, a thick stalk suddenly emerged and grew, almost overnight, to an astonishing height. There was a certain exhibitionist arrogance about this new weapon in his arsenal. I admired her, but feared her a little too.
Investigations revealed that the plant was Agave americana. This species is commonly known as the Plant of the Century, although it typically lives between 10 and 30 years old. I read with great sadness that he only sends the magnificent branching stem once, because he is nearing the end of his life.
That changed everything between me and this rod. Where I once huddled underneath, I now look up in awe of grief rather than fear. But what better way to rage against thehas died of light than throwing a wonderful flowering phallus skyward?
I can't bear to think the end will come. If it was just to slouch it would be a sorry and humiliating way to bow out. It's better, I guess, and less dangerous, than it suddenly shatters, possibly taking me or one of my fellow citizens with it. Before that moment comes, I feel like my neighbors and I should gather - cautiously - underneath, maybe even shake hands as we mourn her impending passing. If I could, I would have him brought back to Mexico to die in peace, in the house of his ancestors.