It was the wisteria that did it. Another grey day in London. Honestly, you could count the moments of sunshine on the fingers of one hand.
Anyway, there it was tumbling all over the neighbours’ house. It must have been blooming for days, but some reason I only noticed it this morning. The weather doesn’t prepare me for the way the plants have flowered. So, I opened my eyes and saw wondrous things. Huge huge tulips, roses, weeds; a cornucopia of colour to which I have been blind. No camera alas.
So this evening, I decided to stroll my local turf and see what I could see.
First NotCat in the tree, with a red rose behind him.
Then roses everywhere. These pinkish white ones looking like notes on a scale.
These yellow ones made me gasp. So lush and rich.
Then I found this single perfect rose.
Why do geraniums look so amazing in Greece and so buttoned up at home? Here’s one doing duty outside a front door.
In contrast, this lily, and it is not my favourite flower, is wonderfully theatrical.
This looks like a passion flower to me, though I don’t think it is. But just look at it, baring its beautiful soul to all and sundry.
If peonies were wine they would be port; full bodied, confident. This one is no exception.
And then through the railings, a planter with prosaic and pretty pansies.
Yet I think my favourite sighting was not a flower at all. This tree was chopped down last year. Its trunk was scored with a cross, but it is a survivor and it is not giving up so easily.