Imagine going to the gardening store–it’s spring, you’re going to find some nice spreading groundcover, maybe a shrub for that bare patch in front of the window–and then, right where you’d expect to find a dwarf magnolia, you find a single claw stretched up to grab the sun like the very mouth of Fenris, its roots sunk deep in a mound of freshly-churned memories and rich, fertile neural matter.
You’d probably take up a different hobby. Or at least hire a gardener.
If you go past the herbs and the greenhouse with one sad orchid in it, you get to the really weird stuff. Like the rose that screams, and oscillating figs. And what appears to be an Audrey Two, only this time the alien plant menace has apparently triumphed over mankind and stands victorious over all it surveys, the sun almost blocked out by a cloud of noxious herbicides and a strange, blood-tinged mist.
This…this is what happens when surrealists do landscapes.
Salvation Army near Metric and 183, Austin