I am a tulip devotee. I see them as a reward for getting through winter. They are a celebration life.
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world
That has such people in ’t!
There will be dark times, there will be light. There will be time to open up, time to close down. We’re all learning.
Plants, like people, have an inner light. When the sun shines on them, they glow.
All of these plants are incredibly easy if you are new to gardening. They are tolerant of less-than-ideal conditions, and perfect for dry, shallow soil. These plants get only a few hours of sunlight a day, but very obligingly light themselves up when I am leaving the house and coming home in the evening.
In May, the Kentish country lanes are full of froth and fizz. They are overflowing with hawthorn blossom and the cow parsley. It reminds me of filling a champagne flute and seeing if it overflows.
After five minutes in the garden I have re-charged and re-energised. There is so much to be grateful for. So many little miracles unfolding before me. Energy bursting upwards and outwards, exploding out of buds. Light shining out of stems and leaves. An infinite variety of shapes and textures.
The tulips have delighted me for three, nearly four weeks. This is their final fling!
I can’t paint or draw. Gardening is my way of splashing around with colour, creating new combinations and having a few happy accidents. My media, right now, is tulips.
The birth of the tulips has been laboured and slow this year, but their emergence is a triumph.
Nature has a way of correcting herself. If she overreaches, she seems to reflect, and modify her trajectory to get back on track. And so, in the second week of April, as always, I am beside myself with anticipation for the arrival of the tulips.
Tight-knit: adjective: closely integrated and bound in love or friendship