Note the dust on the leaves:
This one is the arbus incognitus, which we call the 'tryffid tree'. When you go the nursery, also know as the plant souq, there is often a significant language barrier, and most plants do not have labels. We liked the colour so we pointed and haggled:
After all my lamentations on Written in Exile about the dearth of rain in these parts (What we dream of in the desert), the heavens obliged this afternoon and we had one of our rare 5 minute thunderstorms. I suspect the reason is that a friend of mine has visitors, one of whom is reputed to be the rain goddess, for obvious reasons.
Look, rain drops on the fountain:
Perhaps that is not convincing, so here are rain drops on the umbrella:
The rain will wash the dust off the leaves so tomorrow morning the garden should be sparkling.
The rain is so rare and generally light that there is no infrastructure to cope with it. Any road drains (very few exist) are not located at the low point, so roads and roundabouts flood. The dust combines with grease and rain to make the road surface slippery, awash with ball bearings, if that is not a metaphor too mixed. There will be more crashes and prangs and slow trips home from work this evening.