They look like little red flowers, but this is November. In fact they are empty seed cases from the spindle bush. The cheerful cherry-red stood out from the tapestry of threads left from visitor's wishes in the Bealtaine garden. I picked a small twig and propped it up against a stone, red on grey.
For most of the year the spindle is an undistinguished green bush that no one notices, hiding in the hedgerows. Then, in autumn, it explodes into exotic colour, displaying bright orange berries that clash wonderfully with the crimson cases.
Spindle is so named as the wood was used to make spindles for spinning wool. Perhaps this bush can spin a moral too, that under every ordinary exterior there is a creative soul ready to burst into colour.
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