87. On the seventh day of Christmas

Continuing my Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments over the past year.

On the seventh day of Christmas 

the Garden gave to me:

Seven lilies floating,

Six apples ripening,

Five golden trees,

Four pink blossoms,

Three standing stones,

Two purple orchids,

and a robin in a thorn tree.

86. On the sixth day of Christmas

Continuing my Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments over the past year.

On the sixth day of Christmas 

the Garden gave to me:

Six apples ripening,

Five golden trees,

Four pink blossoms,

Three standing stones,

Two purple orchids,

and a robin in a thorn tree.

85. On the fifth day of Christmas

Continuing my Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments over the past year.

On the fifth day of Christmas 

the Garden gave to me:

Five golden trees,

Four pink blossoms,

Three standing stones,

Two purple orchids

and a robin in a thorn tree.

84. On the fourth day of Christmas

Continuing my Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments over the past year.

On the fourth day of Christmas 

the Garden gave to me:

Four pink blossoms,

Three standing stones,

Two purple orchids,

and a robin in a thorn tree.

83. On the third day of Christmas

Continuing my Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments from the past year.

On the third day 
of Christmas 
the Garden gave to me:

Three standing stones,

Two purple orchids,

And a robin in a thorn tree.

82. On the second day of Christmas

Continuing my Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments over the past year.

On the second day of Christmas 

the Garden gave to me:

Two purple orchids

and a robin in a thorn tree.

81. On the first day of Christmas

Here is my Brigit's Garden version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, sharing some of my favourite moments over the past year.

On the first day of Christmas
 the Garden gave to me:

a robin in a thorn tree.

80. Solstice rainbow

The rainbow felt like a blessing for the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. Sharp squalls of rain followed each other across the Garden, but in one break the sun came out just long enough to create the rainbow.

As soon as I had taken the photograph I ran down to the sundial and was rewarded by a clear view of the longest shadow of the year cast by the low, low sun. 

For two more days the sun will appear to travel the same path across the sky, and then the resurrection miracle will begin - day by day, inch by inch, the sun will start to climb back towards its summer height and the shadow on the sundial will gradually get shorter again. 

I wish you all peace and joy at this solstice and Christmas time, beautifully expressed in this old Celtic blessing:

May the deep peace of the quiet earth

Be with you now and stay with you; 

May it fill your life and all you do,

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

79. Floating leaves

Although the sun is shining I can't read the sundial because it is under water. It has become an round, shallow pool after a month's rain fell in two days. In this saturated landscape every low area and dip - including the sundial, the sunken garden and the polytunnel -  is now filled with water. 

The temporary pool is beautiful though, and I enjoy looking at the perfect reflections of the winter trees and blue sky. Then another thought strikes me, that reflections show the world turned upside down, and if this extreme weather is a sign of climate change we will see a lot more of nature being turned topsy-turvey.  

Another reminder that we are of nature, and what we do to the planet we do to ourselves.

78. Deadwood

It was only 4 pm but dusk was falling as I walked into the old woodland. The path was strewn with storm debris: broken bits of rotten branches and lumps of ivy.

December is here. Earth month. Trees sleep, leaves rot back into the soil and all of nature spirals slowly downwards into the dark, quiet earth.

I picked up a damp, half-rotten twig. Paradoxically, deadwood is essential for a healthy, living woodland. Lots of it is needed to provide homes for invertebrates, fungi, lichens and even some birds. Biodiversity needs the dead as well as the living.

A reminder on a grey December afternoon that death and decay are both part of the cycle of life.