Light is snow sifted / To an abstraction.

What is there to do when people die - people so dear and rare - but bring them back by remembering?

gardening is a madness, a folly that does not go away with age. Quite the contrary.

I sometimes imagine that as one grows older one comes to live a role which as a young person one merely 'played.

Women's work is always toward wholeness.

The garden is growth and change and that means loss as well as constant new treasures to make up for a few disasters.

I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.