10 March 2014

A spring Sunday bordering on summer. The butterflies that were completely absent throughout last year have for some reason chosen early March to make an appearance. And why not, it is after all unseasonally mild after this non-winter. 

There is a rambling sweet pea flowering and I want to say, you are an annual, I planted you out last May, what are you still doing here?

We are still at the kale harvesting stage. Mentally.

But what the heck, we can play this game too, let's pretend it's April and put out the seedlings.

In brightest sunshine, we said good bye to the Douglas fir.

And hello to the new red chestnut.

And in memory of my more rebellous past I manufactured 50 little seed bombs ready to be distributed around the duller parts of town on a rainy and dark night.

While the amaryllis is trying her best to call us back indoors.

Earlier in the day, there were long calls between countries and continents. One of the family has died after a long illness. Someone else's mother, a cousin, an aunt, a friend. There was sadness and relief and the need to talk with the ones we love. And since then, my heart has been whispering to me. I miss my child.


  1. Well, spring is spring, even if there never was much of a winter. My Bradford Pears are just putting on blossoms and I swear to you- they just dropped their leaves a few weeks ago.
    May you have peace as well as a decent harvest.

  2. This post is quite moving. Sadness and relief. Beautiful photos. Loved learning about seed bombs.

  3. The cycle of life. The lure of the external and the pull inward. So it all is.
    I need a recipe for those seed bombs.

  4. Ach, Sabine! Sehnsucht und Seed Bomben. You can make me shed a tear and laugh out loud all at once.