Spring cleaning today, I dusted off an old leather handbag that my mother had made in Art school over seventy years ago.
Exquisitely tooled, alder catkins.
I love the alder when it first buds quietly, almost breathlessly, with a soft ruddy haze on the tips of the branches in the quiet grey days of winter.
Today, perhaps Spring is more than lurking, …
These catkins on my Contorted Hazel are almost florid with their billowy primrose yellow tassels, as if they could dance with the crocuses, and cast the grey away.
I want to draw them. Tomorrow, perhaps. Today, I’m working on a warm cabled vest Inggun which echos the twists and turns of this nature’s entwinement.