Sunday, 5 August 2012


The Seed-Shop
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.

Here in their safe and simple house of death,
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
And in my hand a forest lies asleep. 
Muriel Stuart

Little Pepper Pots!!

Tap these little pods gently and out pop......

Hundreds and Thousands!

Isn't nature wonderful?   (I may have said that before!)


  1. Yes, it is! All my poppies came up that pale purple colour this year. I wonder where all the others went?

  2. wonderful photos, and a fab poem, enjoyed that!

    Leanne x

  3. Lovely poem. I used to also dry my seed heads and use the seeds on top of bread or in scones.


Working from home

I've taken a precious day of annual leave today.  I've really struggled this week with feeling so yuk and I needed the restorative ...