Night-blooming Cereus

I could see the light on their front porch from the other side of State Street, so I knew we weren't too late. Gven and I were walking the dog together because I wanted her to see the flowers in front of a house on Plum Street I had passed the night before. The old gentleman was out there again with his light shining on the huge potted night-blooming cereus that was doing its annual performance.

"You came back," he said as we joined the cluster of neighbors gazing at the plant. The flowers - about a dozen of them on the multi-stemmed, seven-foot plant - are spectacular. Big white blooms with long, curving peals spreading out from an exotic-looking center with outrageously complex pistils and stamens, all hanging pendulously on a long curving tubular stem reaching out from the main stalk. It's a succulent, he explained - the dictionary called it a cactus - with fleshy leaves branching out of long, flat stems that look like leathery leaves themselves. Very wild looking - intelligent design on acid.

The plant was the star of the show, and it didn't seem to mind being the center of attention, bright lights and all. The whole scene was pretty neat, especially the two main supporting characters, the nice old man and his sweet wife. They both wore thick glasses, moved carefully up and down their front steps, and were clearly getting a kick out of showing their venerable plant to the neighbors. And the neighbors, like us, were suitably awed.