If the late-autumn bouquet came from a sleepy garden, full of the last beautiful snippets of colour, then the winter bouquet is from a garden in deep slumber. I found tall, dry, sculptural plants in my winding garden, away in the corners and along a steep slope near the cliffs, and brought them to the table.
The seedpods and dry leaves are so beautiful, I did nothing to them but find a glass vessel to suit their height. I’d like to know what they are, do you know them? Such a simple pleasure, a bouquet from this place, in this season, whether they were once summer weeds or valued blooms.
I like the way the winter landscape becomes all silhouette and shape. Though I’ll soon crave the shots of spring colour to wake me up again, I’m happy to rest for now in delicate, muted tones.