in the night garden

in the night garden

once more

padding the soft moss lawn

which floats in the dying winter light

purple-headed hellebore 

breaks ground

and sharp leaves

pierce the growing gloom

as a church watches over

the path leads home

here come the dreams

rime-edge

contours of a leaf

 stammering

head of the dead hare

frozen

in wood and

dreaming

of the bull rushes beyond

wooded walk

 

the ghost of christmas past

We return to Packwood House just a few weeks after our last visit. This time we've come to see the House decorated as it would have been for Christmas 1918 at the end of the First World War.

The simplicity of the decoration stands in sharp contrast to the excess of modern-day Christmas. It stands as a poignant reminder of when duty, service and honour stared in the face of the apocalyptic horror of trench warfare.

 

 
Outside, the Kitchen Garden is empty save for a solitary volunteer tending to a border. She too departs leaving us to contemplate the ethereal beauty of nature as it begins its winter rest.