The first snows of winter have joined us now, but in the greenhouse, all is quiet. The dahlia tubers are wrapped in their blankets of fleece and the Auriculas are sitting quietly, straining to catch even the weakest rays of sun. The garden hasn’t had its usual cull and much foliage remains, resplendent in the hoar frost, but unmanicured and abandoned otherwise. The tall Miscanthus are tatty now and the heads of the Hydrangea Paniculata are starting to drop. The leaves of the Candelabra primulas are rotting on the surface of their pots, and the Helleborus leaves need cutting back.
I’ve yet to venture out but from the warmth of the garden room where this morning I have chosen to sit and write, I know that I will soon make my way outside. It won’t be long before the pretty pink, purple and white flower heads of the Helleborus will stand up proud, and the first bulbs in their pots will start to poke through. I shall renew the Cyclamen and pansies in the hanging basket and maybe add a Forget-me-not or two. In the stone urn near the front door, the miniature daffodils will soon appear, while I can see the Magnolia is already covered in furry buds. By the back door the first snowdrops are coming through, with promises of the great swathes of delicate white and green flowers to come. So, it’s quiet now, but very soon, I’ll be out there. Ready for the new year to come.