This article was written for Annabel & Grace, which is now part of Rest Less.
I was out for my morning walk with Arthur when my attention was suddenly drawn away to someone’s garden. I was literally brought to a standstill as yesterday, doing the very same route. I was absolutely sure that what I was seeing had not been there. It was as though the faeries had come out overnight, under cover of darkness, their gossamer wings twinkling in the moonlight. Carefully they had stitched together a tapestry of house adornment, each white petal of Wisteria intricately placed to create individual conicals of loveliness.
This house, which only the day before was certainly pretty enough, had, overnight, like magic, become stunning with a cascade of soft, velvety flowers muted against the vibrant green. Full, pendulous clusters of white blossoms hanging in long cones from delicately fronded leaves trembled and shimmered in the breeze. Immediately my imagination was fired up; I saw a waterfall, plumes of white mist spraying up as torrents of frothy water fell steeply in a myriad of channels over a rocky ledge. The channels chased each other down as they dropped in cascades to pool, at its base reflecting the clear blue sky. Rainbows ripple and sparkle in an arc of refraction and reflection, the pale colours merging seamlessly into each other and yet uniquely defined and separate. Or perhaps a petrified forest, or a cluster of stalactites? White mineral deposits hang precariously, like frosted icing clinging on by the tips of their gnarled, nobbly fingers, their wide open grimaces reflecting the effort exerted as they drip, drip, drip down the ceiling and sides of a cave. In spite of the rich yellow glow of the sunshine that warms my back, I see perhaps a winter landscape. Bright, white icicles hanging like winter carrots from the house, their frozen forms glimmering and stark against the dark grey side of the house to create an image of Christmas at night. Christmas in spring!
As my mind swirls and whirls along a thousand paths of possibility, I feel a faint tug on the lead, a reminder of why we are out and what we are doing here. I glance down and see two diamond-shaped black eyes looking straight into mine, head slightly on one side, and I have to chuckle. I see no judgement in those eyes, for this is familiar territory, just a gentle reminder that we need to move on……….you know, things to do, places to be!
“I know, I know…..” I say softly, smiling at him, but I wish that I could stay, watching the wind as it navigates gently through those blossoms.
I want to stand in the beauty of this moment for as long as possible. To stand, my best friend by my side to watch as the breeze rippled and flowed like that water I saw through those delicate white flowers, hanging tenuously onto their thin, woody, twining stems.
Reluctantly we move off together, nose to the ground, head in the clouds, our usual combination. We don’t perhaps get very far these days, and I’ve missed my extended walks terribly, but the sight of that Wisteria, the breathtaking beauty of its haunting blossoms, is enough to lift the soul and brighten the spirits no matter what.
Wandering along the grass verge, I imagine that as the night draws in, the silver owl spreads her wings and the Hedgehog sniffle and snort along the borders as the faeries descend once more. Like tiny fireflies, they blink in the darkness, their soft yellow flares of light shining out as they dip their wings and land, each to their own blossom, illuminating tiny windows in fragile houses. Here, resting sleepy heads on tiny stamen pillows, they curl up, their wings tucked neatly at their backs. As they drift off, their lights fade to nothing, one after the other, until there is nothing left but thick, velvety darkness.
By daylight, they will have gone, only the soft scent of their former presence left behind for us to catch on the breath of the morning, sweetly fragrant.
As quickly as the Wisteria appeared, so sadly will it fade away, the faeries finding new homes for nighttime slumbers, the blossoms withered and vanished. Whilst Arthur and I will sigh, mourning its departure, so we will find new things to delight and surprise us. New colours and forms to dazzle and delight our morning walks. This is just part of the joy of living, part of the changing seasons that we all enjoy, and part of the natural order of things.