I seem to be into connections at the moment. When my brother Rob came to visit, he kindly brought a large pot with a clump of flowers - taken from his garden but which, originally, came from Mum's. As if by magic, the flowers started to bloom, despite the inclement weather, and this is a picture I took yesterday. Beautiful.
I guess that Mum's love of flowers came from her mother. My grandmother taught me so many of the names of our wild flowers and my Magician, Flora, in The Magic Makers is very much a tribute to her. Here are the opening lines:
The Flower Magician
In which the dew-drops from Flora’s hair
Two moonbeams parted in the mists of dawn,
Where Flora came, by silken cobwebs drawn.
And where she breathed into the chilly air,
Or shook the morning from her golden hair,
The spangled dewdrops melted into flowers
Which fell to earth in rainbow-coloured showers.
The gentle crocus stirred her golden tongue
As if a silent nightingale had sung.
At once, the primrose turned her velvet cheek,
The dog-rose blushed, the cowslip strained to speak.
Mayweed and meadowsweet their fragrance breathed
Where orchids glowed and crimson poppies seethed.
If you go to the website underneath the illustration or, better still (!), buy the book, you will see Nicola's beautiful illustrations of the flowers. Nan would have loved them - so would Mum. Hm! Getting sentimental. I'll try to change direction tomorrow.
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