December: Frost and Snow

Low golden sun beaming up the path. Frost like jewels: out sparkling precious crystal. Cold, cold, air on legs and face.

No time for flowery writing or long descriptions. Short sentences and freezing fingers. Blackbirds singing in the Crab apple trees. Still plenty of tiny brown apples for their breakfast. Blue tits busy on the bird table. Robin’s wistful song.

Sedum heads like chocolate sponge cakes dusted with icing sugar. Box topiary cubes have tiny ice-rimed leaves and brown blown leaves – Crab, Oak, Willow rest on top.

The tree Dahlia is valiantly and surprisingly unfrosted, and still blooming at 6 feet high.

On the opposite side of the path, all the shrubs and perennial shapes and textures are picked out.
No gaps. The winter border we’ve worked on for ten years, now complete.

The house is bathed in gold sunlight. Frosted copper roof tiles. White grass in the orchard and a solitary apple still clings on.
The Phlomis seedheads look like Christmas decorations without the gaudiness . Cardoon leaves have an extra dimension, with all their pointy detailing picked out.

Arching grasses glisten and swish as I pass them.