If it be long ay, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong;

Not sure about the gardenia, but dense shade/drought will make the hibiscus leaves turn yellow and drop. I feed lightly but frequently and keep even moisture and the hibisci never looked better.

This is indeed one king-hell, motherfucker of a burger—one that would be seriously difficult to top in a blind taste-off of “experts.”

Ambedo. That's what he was feeling as he ran after Selena through the tall grass (having awakened with a knot on his head to find her fleeing) and tried not to think about the danger. Ambedo: that trance-like state in which one became became so absorbed by their surroundings—the wind massaging the green hills so that they undulated like sea anemones or the red-gold chiaroscuro sky lending palette and poetry to everything or the sun glaring over the horizon like a burning but indifferent god—that they forgot what they were doing or even why they were there.