Reflections in the Shed Window

There it is, in the background, my studio, aka The Tardis, and the poles for the runner beans; but what is not reflected is that washing line, high up above the garden, where the clothes are pulled up by ropes, and whip out in the wind. This is, apparently, a form of line constructed from those who have been in the navy. Tony was working in the merchant navy when he was 15, the boat had to be fettled and they were in Venice for a fortnight……

Portsmouth is apparently full of these washing lines..

Mirrors, Water and Reflections 2

When my small studio was built up in the vegetable garden, my husband bought a door. I was imagining a door with much glass, whereas this door just had a decorative strip of cut glass down the middle. Somewhere, a more conventional conservatory-type door existed in the garden, so he held that up to the door space, and then held up this more “door” door, and I could see that it had a better feeling. The design of my octagonal studio was based on a hat box which was on the floor of the room where we eat. Half-way through the build he thought there was not enough room for storage, so he cut into the three back panels half way up, made some cupboards, roofed them. Two ships portholes in the back walls, then two side windows and this door. I sat down in the place when it was finished, hoping it would be a place to work, and within seconds I knew that it was perfect. My son said: “The last place you worked in was hell (an old cow shed) but this is heaven.”

Tony had a catalogue of floor types. We both liked the same one but agreed it was too expensive (he built the studio, with help from a friend, and I paid for the materials, with the proceeds from an illustration job); and then when the floor arrived, he had ordered the one we both agreed was unaffordable. I have never reimbursed him, as we both know. I wanted this piece of floor in the doorway, with “Orient Fruit” printed on it.

January Moon

This is the moon over the field beside the small wooded path on the other side of the Tweed. I notice thorns and brambles in monochrome where in summer there is profusion of leaves and flowers. This has been my week of the moon. Next week will be the winter sun. It is all a bit dreich still in the Borders, but the beautiful hellebores, the delight of winter, are coming into bloom. I was returning from feeding the birds at the top of the garden, and as I came past the shed and back down into the path beside the lawn (soon to be a miniature orchard) , I heard the most alarming buzzing which I thought came from amongst the winter trees, a sound much too loud for insects, and too frenzied for an electric saw. Then the buzzing grew softer and higher and I saw a drone climbing up towards the clouds. A strange and sinister thing.

In praise of the Hellebore

From the autumn until today, when the plants are still in full flower, the hellebore has adorned the garden. Such an uncomplaining kind of plant, it doesn’t shed its petals, it doesn’t wither, it just goes on spreading by a few degrees here and there, and produces such elegant flowers. I feel a real affection towards these plants. My son will be given some for his garden in the autumn. I could not find any kind of an involving poem about them, but maybe I should look under “Christmas Rose” as I believe that is another title they bear; though it is now nearly May. I shall go on looking for a poem. In the meantime, thank you, hellebores, you are special in your own way.

The Pond in November II

There, on the left, is a lily bud, from plants lowered into the pond months ago. They have been living their life their under the water, and now, late in the year, one appears above the surface. The acer leaves bend towards the water, some are in the water, some are reflected. The garden is ablaze with the colours, but it won’t last long. However, when one acer is bereft of scarlet leaves, another burns orange yellow in the late sunlight.

Garden Mirror 2

Garden Mirror 1

A change of activity today. Trawling the garden, looking through the lens of a different camera. What have I not been doing over the past year? It is so strange to suddenly not work on something that I have worked on for a long time; and which now is out in the world, among strangers, in a universe I no longer understand from up here in the Scottish Borders, moreover a universe that I do not recognise from what it was long ago. I don’t like change. If something works one way, why do it another way? But that is just part of the not reading the instructions attitude. SO, having lost the camera manual, I bought a different manual, and its dinky erudition suits me fine. A beautiful day. My husband is out tending the vegetable plot, which is flourishing. The battered blackbird, Miss Ruche, with her back skull pink and bare from flying into the window many years ago, is the first to the bird table. She has her own small patch too, just outside the studio door, with her special sprinkling of mealworms and her bowl of water. Another blackbird seems to have caught the tameness and hovers nearby. We are OK, and the madness is for the moment elsewhere.

The Other Side of the Glass

Bud of Hellebore

Fuchsia 2