I am happy to report that this Six on Saturday is written with the sun in my heart and, more importantly, in my garden. Yesterday, when I took these photographs, it was doing the usual, no need to dwell on that nonsense, that is the past. Let us raise a cup of tea to the Return of the Sun. Expect the mood to be optimistic and expectant of great futures. Don’t forget to nip over to The Prop’s to find out what is happening in lots of other gardens. If you are nosy like me this is a godsend, there is absolutely no chance of getting caught rummaging in someone’s herbaceous borders and being firmly asked to leave the premises or the local constabulary will be called forthwith. Not that that has ever happened to me of course.
First of all we have a desiccated hydrangea flower. In a few weeks these will be removed, giving space for the new growth to emerge and the cycle to continue. It is worth keeping the heads on, both for protection of the vulnerable young foliage and for decorative purposes. Even when soggy they look good. I wish I would say the same for myself.
Next my bully-boy Narcissus ‘Tête-à-Tête’ who are exploding from the front planters at a rate of knots. “I was here first!” they shout as they push the poor pansies out of the way, lifting great clods of composts as they rise triumphant. I will not tolerate such behaviour, there is room for everyone.
Now the empty husks of hosta flowers. These live in the front garden, in pots just by the front door so we can be ever vigilant in our war against the slimy ones. They still get eaten. Still, for a short while we will enjoy them intact and the flowers are rarely attacked.
On to Campanula poscharskyana, looking very washed out in this picture, which seeds itself in walls both front and back. This piece is on the short pillar on the pavement. This pillar is very important to the local dog population. Messages are left here to be sniffed by the next passer-by which are then promptly replied to. Doggie Post Office.
For many weeks I have thought that these hanging brown bats on the Begonia fuchsioides were the last of the flowers which had been caught in the light frost. On closer inspection they appear to be seed pods. I collected them and brought them in to dry. Already the miniscule seed is spilling out. Small things, big smiles.
Yesterday I sat at my computer, checking my dreary photographs, trying to pick something at least vaguely in focus. My eyes turned towards the window, as I wondered whether I should go outside and try again. A single white feather slowly drifted to the ground. The feather is a symbol of the spirit in many cultures, and some believe that a white feather is the sign that an angel has passed close by. It would be nice to think that. Nothing to do with seagulls at all. Nothing.
All done, until the next time.