She loved flowers, all kinds – those in the village gardens, in the woods, along the roads, and in the fields. But most of all, she loved white flowers. Those were the sweetest scented, the ones the honeybees sought. Lily-of-the-valley, freesia, orange blossoms for bridal bouquets, and the tall nicotania to fill the evening air – all were in her dream of a perfect garden. Along her walks were the snow drops that come up in late December, and the great white crocus called Jeanne d'Arc later in the Spring.
One day in late winter she told me of the very old white wisteria that still climbed the high pebble-washed walls of Beatrix Potter's farmhouse, a place she yearned to visit. Maybe someday.
snow drops under the snow