September Sunshine

The great autumn borders at the Savill Gardens,
a spectacular explosion of red, yellow and orange.
I fear these photos have not done justice
to the skill and artistry of the gardeners.

We have soaked up the sunshine this week
every last moment in the garden precious.
It's been a glorious Indian summer.

Mr Higgledy Garden proposed...

Centaurea 'Blue Ball'

Calendula

Larkspur

Centaurea 'Classic Romantic'

Nope. Not a clue what this is...

Centaurea - unknown variety

and I accepted...

If I am being completely honest
I caught him at a weak moment
when he was so terrified about talking
in front of the dovegreyreader audience
that he sold me twelve packets of seeds
at an outrageously cheap price.
It is a brutal lesson
not to drink gin in public.

Now I just need a walled garden...

A Storm of Roses

Here are my roses, warmed by sunshine.

The pale pink rose that scrambles against the fence
and the wild rose that falls in cascades from next door.

The blowsy pink rose draped in the apple tree,
the shell pink rose growing through Canterbury Bells.

Lush petals, bright stamens, sweet fragrance,
I walk up and down, trying to fix the memory
of this quiet garden before the rain.

In time the memory will blur and I will forget
the day, and the rain, and the names of the roses
but this is how it was on that June afternoon.

An embarrassment of flowers

There are too many flowers in the house
and it feels shockingly extravagant.
Perhaps if I share them with you
I can spread the burden of guilt.

These delicious orange tulips
are from a market stall in Cambridge.
It was a bright sunny morning
and I had just bought for lunch
a loaf of rosemary and seasalt bread.
I was feeling virtuous and housewifely.
Tulips seemed a necessary purchase.

Unfortunately, I had completely forgotten
that I had bought a bunch of hyacinths
before I left for Cambridge on Friday.
I assume this was caused by the stress
of sitting on the M25 for two hours.
I made it in time for the party but only just.

Luckily I had a clear run back on Saturday
and MrM was very pleased to see me.
This is partly because I had promised
to chauffeur him back from a rugby match.
These sunflowers are a gift from MrM
and they are glowing in a blue vase
from lovely Jenny the Cartographer.

There is no room for so many flowers!
No room in our tiny house, I tell you!
I had to move my ivy arrangement
to make room for the jug of hyacinths.
There is a story about the sauce tureen
but I am too exhausted with housework.
Another day.

And so to bed.
A small pot of pink roses,
my private pleasure.
Some things do not change.

Herbal Tonic

When I got back from Spain
I needed to cheer myself up

so I filled the house with flowers:
hyacinths, anemones, daffodils.

It marked the end of a crazy month:
Morocco, Italy, Spain.

There are things to look forward to
but for now I am happy
to be under my own roof

( a roof which is not leaking anymore,
thanks to super-quick service
from our local roofing company).

the road to Torrox

There is a small, rough road
that links Frigiliana near Nerja
with the next small town, Torrox.

It winds over the hills
following the contours
so that you can look down
into the deep valleys.

If you drive that way in spring
you will be totally surrounded
by meadows of wild flowers.

It is like falling
into a living tapestry.

I was completely unprepared
for the beauty of it,
the abundance.

and it was so still and clear
that I didn't want to leave.

In the distance
I could hear the bells
of a herd of goats
which added to the
surreal atmosphere.

The clatter of bells grew louder
and the herd of goats
came up to road behind us
and then turned off
onto a drovers track
between the olive trees.



I don't think I could live
surrounded by such beauty.
It would make me too intolerant
of the complexities, challenges
and ugliness of everyday life

but I think of that goat herder
and I am glad that he walks
through the flower meadows
beside the road to Torrox.

new beginnings

Hellebore are undemanding.
When you are ready to step out of the door
they are there waiting quietly for you.

I fell out of love with gardening.
When? Why? I can't explain.

Now is the time to change that.
Little by little I must reclaim the space
and learn to love it again.

Sometimes we need to give ourselves
permission for a fresh start.
To step out of the garden door
as if for the first time.

Today, when I stepped out of the door
the hellebore were flowering,
dusty pink blooms catching the sunlight.

*****

disclaimer:
these are not my hellebore
but mine looked just as good.

jugs of sunshine

Cotehele was looking beautiful at the weekend.

The gardens behind the house,
the orchards and the woods
were filled with daffodils.

The blooms were perfect,
held by the damp cold weather
for this first day of sunshine.

Inside the house, in every room,
there was a jug of flowers
bringing light to the dim interior.

The National Trust has relaxed
the rules on photography
inside their properties
and I am very grateful.

My camera has captured
happy memories of sunshine
on an Easter Saturday morning.

In the Rose Garden

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

William Shakespeare
Sonnet CXXX

a wet Sunday afternoon
at Hinton Ampner.