http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orchis The orchid is an orchid wild European land The genus was established by Linnaeus in 1753.
We can see the flowers soon, around April May Then we can know what it's wild orchids. The
Spitzel of Orchis (Orchis spitzelii), also called short-horned orchid is a plant of the genus Orchis and family Orchidaceae. The Provence
orchis (Orchis provincialis) is a small orchid flowers creamy white to yellowish grows in Mediterranean regions.
The Purple Orchis (Orchis purpurea) is a perennial herb of the family Orchidaceae fairly common in Europe that we find also in North Africa, Turkey and the Caucasus. The orchis
Hyères (Orchis olbiensis, Reut. Ex Gren., 1859) is a species of terrestrial orchid French. The warrior
orchis (Orchis militaris) is a European terrestrial orchid.
The male orchis (Orchis mascula (L.) L. 1755) also called satyrion male is a European terrestrial orchid.
Man Hangman (Orchis anthropophora, syn. Acera anthropophorum) is a European terrestrial orchid. This is the only representative of the genus Acer, the name given because the flower is devoid of outcrop.
You noticed the Friends, as the winds seem to have removed, cold nights of winter sunshine. This is the great calm, great peace.
Good day to you. May these three small orchids of Provence accompany you for a beautiful day, a very good week.
Kisses. Ivano
Good morning thinking
At four o'clock in the morning, summer, sleep
love lasts. Under
groves dawn evaporated
The smell of festive night.
But there in the vast field
Towards the Sun of the Hesperides,
In shirtsleeves, carpenters
already restless.
In their desert moss, quiet
They prepare the paneling
Where precious wealth of the city
laugh under false heavens.
Ah! for these charming Workers
Subjects of a king of Babylon,
Venus! leaves a little Lovers,
Whose soul is in a ring.
0 Queen of the Shepherds! Gate workers
water spirits,
For their forces be at peace
Meanwhile bathing in the sea at noon.
Arthur Rimbaud 1872
Appearance
The moon was sad. Seraphim crying
Dreaming, bow in hand, in the quiet flowers
misty, drew from dying viols
White sobs slipped on the blue corollas.
- was the blessed day of your first kiss. My reverie
magnet torture me
intoxicated cleverly scent of sadness
That even without regret disappointment leaves
cueillaison The Dream of a heart that was picked. So I wandered
, eyes riveted on the pavement aged
When the sun with the hair in the street
And in the evening, you appeared to me, laughing
And I I thought to see the fairy hat clarity
Who once on my beautiful sleep of a spoiled child
past, leaving his hands still ajar
Snow white bouquets of fragrant stars.
Poems of Stephane Mallarme
The time now is strange. Well, the winter anticyclone is not new, but I do not know, I think there is something strange. Let us turn to one year drought on the axis 45 degrees north?
