Tiny clusters of flowers. Sparce on the bush this summer. Small and sparce and hardly noticable in all the greenery. Insignificant.
How much beauty do we miss because we don't bother to really look? Because from afar, there doesn't seem to be anything beyond ordinary, at best? I almost cut this spindly bush down this summer, since it smothered the rosemary and defiantly refused to produce more than a half-dozen less-than-full flower clusters at a time.
I have a new love for it now.