Que Sera Sara?

Last night I was browsing online garden catalogues. Even pixelated pictures of plants make me happy. There is something hopeful and promising about the rows and columns of flourishing foliage.

You too can be host to such splendour! they say.

But I can’t. I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever had, some in record time. I literally dream about having spiky boxwoods and lush beech willows framing my perfect outdoor oasis as the seasons turn. Someday when I am someone good at that sort of thing.

I do like big, glamorous Botanical Gardens and ridiculous castle grounds, but I am always obscenely grateful to stumble upon window boxes and tidy perennial borders out in the Real World, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the clever, talented gardener who gifted all us black-fingered strangers something beautiful for no good reason at all.