Plough and Cyclamen Sunday

A beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon and I am tempted out into the garden. Despite the fact that it is still early January it is warm enough to dispense with a coat, which is a very pleasant surprise.
As there is a breeze, I hang the towels out on the line to dry.

Five plants with inside out flowers require planting - cyclamen! That is their name! The white blooms will fill the gaps left when the last of the lobelia were removed. I had spotted them outside a greengrocers and thought they will be perfect for embellishing the tables at the Afternoon Tea Service, and then they could supplement the existing plants at the front of the house. The Tea Service was Thursday, so having done their duty gracing the tea table with their floral finery, they could relocate to their retirement pads, delightfully situated adjacent to the boundary of our property. Planting this quintet was all I intended to do...

However, the yellow daisies in the planters required cutting down, as the tops have died back. If the winter is not too severe they should send forth fresh shoots. If not I will replant in the spring.

The pots at the front were very dry, as we haven't had any significant rain in weeks. They are also close to the house, so what rain we have had has made little impact on them. I enlisted the help of the KHT to water and replenish the reservoirs at the base of each pot.

The iris are shooting, so I lug the heavy pot round from behind the shed. There had been a gorgeous double blue-purple primula in there as well. Sadly I didn't remember to water it often enough so it became a casualty of the previous hot summer.  I filled the space vacated by the demise of the aforementioned primula with hyacinths, dug out of the bed we plan to replant in the spring.

Then I decided to tidy the raised bed, trimming straggly aubretia and removing any oak leaves which may have provided cover for the dreaded slugs.

By now the clean trousers I put on this morning were looking decidedly grubby...

The KHT  is now watering the entire garden, having removed leaves that were blocking the flow of water.  I try to get her to water in one place, so I can take some photographs, but she is not keen to co-operate.
I am interupting her important watering for the frivolous pursuit of photography and she is not impressed.

DH returned from his allotment, where he has been digging over some of the beds. It is Plough Sunday, so that seems strangely fitting.

The wind increases in tempo. I rescue the towels as it is starting to get dark.
"Hadn't you better rescue those plants off the table as well, it is getting rather windy?" enquires DH
"They are fine," I assure him.
"Oh, you mean they are in the ground?"
"No."
"Where are they then?
"In the pots."
"Well, that's the ground, isn't it...?"
We watch as the light fades,
through the wintery hues of pink,
red
and purple.













The streetlight and moon fight valiantly
as gradually the darkness
wins
once
again.