n the depths of January I stood in the corner of the garden – under the tree, against the old brick wall – and remembered what had been there six months earlier. Spires of dusky-pink ‘Summer King’ foxgloves, clouds of feathery fennel. A wayward branch, laden with Victoria plums. The winter beds were comparatively bare, dotted with the keen growth of this year's echinops and
GARDENS IMMEMORIAL
Aug 09, 2022
2 minutes
You’re reading a preview, subscribe to read more.
Start your free 30 days