A small vase to hold a collection of colors, textures, perfumes and corresponding memories.
Rosemary, spiky, aromatic, dressed in Provencale colors.
Velvet wallflowers in burnished orange, wafting scents that take me back to the garden of my Mother's Great Aunt Flossie.
Brash petunias and perfumed stock, encroached upon by a bustle of sweet-pea starters and the evergreen leaves of jasmine. The stakes are there to support the Dahlias that are hidden to all but my inner eye, for now.
Forget-me-nots blueing up in my overcrowded pots.
Wall flower habitat. Unstructured, willful, messy.
Birds-eye view of sweet-pea plants that have reached a foot tall already, and had to be tied up to the trellis today. There is a seating area just the other side of this low wall, and a crab-apple tree behind, that flowers in an abundance of rich cotton candy pinks.
The small green leaves down in front are Columbines. I see the flowers that are not there yet.
Orchids in a pot, by my front door. They come back every year, from this plant that I bought at the flea-market, on a jaunt with faraway friends. This year's abundance has let me use orchids as a cutting flower.