And somehow, yet again, everything came into bloom. Everything at once, so here I am celebrating the cultivated and the pristine. Sometimes the owners of land, property and gardens allow access, but Colclough Garden in Tintern Abbey County Wexford, is owned by us. This walled garden was planted by volunteers and reclaimed from a ruin by . . .
Blue is never more blue than it is when paired with orange. And the orange is never bluer than when eaten on a cloud in the sky. Jarod Kintz It started from the first view of the Montbretia filled hedgerows along the Dingle Peninsula, now orange is everywhere..... Opposite . . .
My sister is honey coloured so she tones in beautifully with traditional Swedish architecture. From the old town of Gamla Stan to the hilly cobbled streets of Sodermalm, the Swedes seem to favour warm Italian tones. That's the first surprise I wanted to share with you. Maybe this is why . . .
When I was in Rome earlier this year as part of this Pilgrimage year, I remembered those tiny paint boxes that we used to get for Christmas when I was a kid. Each little square or tube of colour had an unfathomable name; Yellow Ochre, Warm Sienna, Burnt Umber, Terracotta, Vermillion. I had no idea what they were or how they . . .
I know! I'm gadding about a lot recently. It's a long story. This week I'm in Vienna. Strikes me as a conservative and wealthy city. It's only my initial impression and I've never been here before. Right? Wrong. Turns out today is the Gay Pride March. It's my first proper Gay Pride. It's got bells and . . .
I skip the Pope's house this time. I am always cautious not to disrespect another's idea of beauty or religion, all I know is that I would never find light there. In the midst of droves of pilgrims making their way to the Basillica of St. Peter's I am as usual walking in the opposite direction, towards the pagan . . .
Pink, blue, lavender and softest grey, the pastel diary of early spring days. The promise of a new palette. Until then soak in the light, the heart, the hope. Warmth streaming through the window after our wintery lunch. Pull back the curtains, throw open the door and listen to the whisper of the world turning. . . .
And just when it seemed like the relentless greyness would never return to light, under the dark compost, luscious rhubarb was being reborn. It distracted me from the gloom....... Green shoots, seeking light, embracing shade and living in glorious colour........ . . .
The Rosebay Willowherb are at the end of this cycle. At their height they are pinker and deeper than a girly pink. In early autumn they go to seed in a fluffy fashion and by December they are gnarled fists of skeletal remains clinging to their stalks. In clumps along the ditches, they mark time with me, and . . .
Do you share a memory of lying under trees, watching the light flicker through the leaves? Did you throw yourself onto the grass and stare into the sky? Did you roll in leaves and kick them down the path on the way home from school, or half close your eyes to see faeries dancing between the branches and the . . .