After several days of that grey, uninspiring kind of weather that can make winter here feel endlessly bleak, I was reminded that even in the dreariest moments, beauty still lingers—if only we take the time to notice it.
A walk through Huelgoat Forest led me to the Mare aux Sangliers, glistening softly after the rain in late December. The atmosphere was quiet, the air cool and damp, and everything seemed washed clean.
On the forest floor, I found a fallen oak branch adorned with delicate lichens—fragile, intricate forms shaped by wind and time. One day I hope to identify them properly, but for now, I marvel at their quiet presence.
In the garden, a single Christmas Rose (Helleborus niger) had just unfurled. It stood pristine and fresh, untouched by the heavy rain that had spoiled its earlier blooms—a gentle reminder of resilience and renewal.
Nearby, the Chinese Witch Hazel (Hamamelis mollis ‘Pallida’) had begun to flower, its crinkled yellow petals like crepe paper, catching the light and releasing a faint, sweet perfume—subtle and elusive, but unmistakably there.
And then, an unexpected delight: a solitary bloom of Iris reticulata ‘Katharine Hodgkin’. All the others are still barely peeking above the soil, yet here she was—early, elegant, and entirely welcome. Why this one flower chose to arrive now, I can’t explain. But what a joy to find her.
Add to these signs the emerging Crocus, Narcissus, and—believe it or not—Tulips, and it becomes clear that Spring is quietly making her approach. The days are getting longer, and though I know more grey skies will come, there’s a shift in the air.
Time to open the seed catalogues and dream of what’s to come.