The orange-pink of dawn made the hibiscus seem dim; muted in colour when Harry knew they should be vibrant, glorious. Pinks and yellows and reds. Slender stalks supporting fragile petals - some the size of his hand – seemed to tremble as the sun rose higher in the sky.
"Hibiscus syriacus," his mind supplied as he ran his fingertips carefully over a flower that had fully blossomed. "Hibiscus clayi, Hibiscus kokio. Furcellatus. Immaculatus."
Over the sound of waves crashing on their beach he could hear a stirring from the bedroom. He rubbed his sandy feet on the woven mat near the front door as he walked back inside.
Just another day in paradise.
