Spring is over. The forsythia has come and gone. The lilacs have bloomed and faded quietly, their scent a memory. Daily I peruse my garden for new blooms. I delight as my cornflowers bob in the breeze and my old-fashioned climbing rose bends under the weight of its buds. My pots are planted and luscious.Even the grass is green. And I anticipate the mid-June entrance of the grande dame of the garden: the peony. Showy, but always worth the wait.
The June garden is my favourite, and I spend a lot of time peering out the breakfast room window gazing at it. Through my happy filter, much is gently cropped out—the leaning arbour, the weeds, the chipped paint, the less than perfect edging. Or rather these things are recast as 'charming' in my eyes. Either way, when I look out at my garden over my steamy mug of morning coffee, what I see is great beauty and possibility.
Recently I tried to take a photo of the garden from this self-same window, from the exact spot where I stand admiring it. Click. I toggle excitedly to admire the digital display.
What?
Where is the rambling English country garden of my imaginings?
I press delete.
With some help, I did, however, manage to get some lovely photos earlier in the season. Cast your mind back to April and enjoy the helleborus and my early Spring pots.
More to come, I promise.
