The flowers are all mixed up this year - hot sunshine in December, showers in January, both in February. Confused gardenias poke pointed buds through bitter-green leaves, unfold like pale children who come out after rain and turn white faces to the sun when rightly, by the calendar, there should be none. And the myrtle tree that ought to be bare, isn't. Instead, purple tiaras soar from its leafy head, dropping amethyst petals on emerald grass. And we, long past blooming, quicken with one last chance.