Banksia breathes here in thick, defiant colour—
a wild pulse caught mid-explosion. Leaves like serrated flames lean heavy,
bronze and amber, edges burnt violet by some unseen sun,
while the cones wait—stubborn lanterns
hung with their own carved suns,
each circle starred white as if lightning
touched the fruit and left its signature. No gentle bloom this;
it crackles, it holds fire in its geometry,
old Australian alchemy pressed into oil and pigment—
earth remembering how to burn without apology,
how to fruit in the afterglow of ancient heat. Even in stillness the painting roars softly:
These are not flowers that ask permission.
They command the canvas to remember bushfire,
drought, resilience,
and the particular gold of a land that never quite forgets its fury.
Port Macquarie NSW