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“A bromeliad extinct for so long that no one bothered to look for it anymore. A plant so rare even its name was gone. It was Sonali's prize. The passion plant with no name. There was no mistaking the mysterious bromeliad, its inward-spiraling leaves forming a small black hole in the center. A mandala, Sonali had said, created by the plant world, about the mind of human beings. I had in my sights the very plant Sonali and Armand had spent so many years searching for. Being an air plant, it did not require any soil to live- it grew straight out of a log. It was not parasitic. It had attached itself for stability only.” — Margot Berwin
A bromeliad extinct for so long that no one bothered to look for it anymore. A plant so rare even its name was gone. It was Sonali's prize. The passion plant with no name.
There was no mistaking the mysterious bromeliad, its inward-spiraling leaves forming a small black hole in the center. A mandala, Sonali had said, created by the plant world, about the mind of human beings. I had in my sights the very plant Sonali and Armand had spent so many years searching for.
Being an air plant, it did not require any soil to live- it grew straight out of a log. It was not parasitic. It had attached itself for stability only.