… that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer. ~Plutarch, Moralia
The forecast is for temperatures in the single digits over the weekend. We knew it was coming – we’ve had a very mild season so far and we knew it wouldn’t last. But now the snow that fell in fluffy drifts last week and blew everywhere like dust has been rained on a frozen, sculpted into odd patterns and compacted into concrete. This weekend we will be that faraway land where winter is silent and sounds thaw in spring. I need a reminder of what is under that featureless layer of white, all over the garden.
Campenula growing between seedum and dianthus in the alpine bed.
Astilbe and gunnera growing in the lower garden, near the swamp.
Elecampne growing on the stairs, over a tree peony.