Wild Garlic
In the garden the wild garlic insinuates itself into every corner. It mimics the bluebells which spring up through the layer of wood shavings round the back of the studio, so that among the just-appearing bluebell flowers peer out the fully-formed white heads of garlic. Wild garlic leaves are almost the same as bluebell leaves, especially when full-grown. It springs up in the gravel beside the pond, and under the hawthorn hedge. Each year I pull up by its roots as much of it as I can reach, and each year it returns, though a little less than formerly. But when I go out walking the wild garlic is everywhere, great swathes of it, so pretty with the shadows of trees over it, or with the dew on its leaves. After working in the garden I find myself wanting to reach over and haul it up by its roots; however, another part of my mind can appreciate the prettiness of the plant and its particular aroma. A cousin, who disliked anyone weeding, said once that weeds were only flowers in the wrong place.
Trees Across the River 2
This is the feeling that I want for the woods in my picture book. The part that is set in woodland talkes place at nightime, but maybe I will just put some stars in a lilac sky to signify the dark, and keep these delicate colours.
-
Archives
- March 2023 (1)
- February 2023 (3)
- January 2023 (10)
- April 2022 (1)
- March 2022 (3)
- January 2022 (1)
- December 2021 (1)
- November 2021 (8)
- September 2021 (8)
- July 2021 (2)
- June 2021 (1)
- May 2021 (6)
-
Categories
-
RSS
Entries RSS
Comments RSS