lily of the incas
A cluster of Alstroemeria, commonly known as Peruvian lily or lily of the Incas, that I photographed at Helmingham Hall during a visit with my parents in summer 2017.
red roses and reindeer
It's that time again.
As has become something of a custom, life is "all change" again this December (well, at least on the work front).
Despite that, I'm aiming to share new images from my season's grievings series every couple of days between now and Christmas and make them public approximately two days later.
I hope you enjoy!
I photographed this grave in Abney Park Cemetery in February 2012. The inscription is hard to read through the plant life, but it could be for Thelma Marie Lucas. Alas, I haven't been able to find anything to confirm that or to inform me more about the interred.
I hope that those who love you miss you this much and more after you're gone.
(Though, without the requirement of it being so physically visible. I personally don't want to be buried, so there would be nowhere specific like this for those who love and miss me to show it in the same way.)
bearded iris
I photographed this Iris × germanica at Knebworth House on Sunday while visiting as part of a day trip out of London for my good friend Sophie's birthday.
It may not be evident in the photos when saved for the web, but they shimmered like the frosted flowers you might find on a wedding cake. I thought perhaps I imagined it in the moment, but you can see it in the high-resolution photographs I took, and Wikipedia mentions 'sparkling whites' amongst the colours they may be.
Bearded irises are commonly grown in Muslim cemeteries, according to Wikipedia.
china rose (white)
A very belated Happy New Year to you, my dear patrons.
I'm sorry (once again) for the radio silence.
The end of 2024 was voraciously consumed with move-related activity and kittehs, leaving me no time to assemble my usual end-of-year wrap-up blog.
I still intend to write and share one, but I have many photos to edit to bring it together, and January has somehow already disappeared into the rearview. How is that possible?
I hope 2025 will be a better one for me. And for you, if 2024 was hard.
The state of the world worries me deeply. In case you haven't heard, the Doomsday Clock ticked one second closer to midnight with the swearing-in of Drumpf as the 47th US President, the ongoing wars around this globe we call Earth, and the continued inaction of many world leaders in tackling climate change.
I'll be honest: it's hard to have hope some days.
But I do have hope. And plans. And I continue to see the beauty in the world and the people in my life despite everything.
I hope you do, too.
I would tell you all about the plans and inspiration whirling around my head. But I feel like, every time I mention my creative plans, I must push them aside while I fight another personal metaphorical fire.
So, instead, I will simply promise to share as much as I can when I can and hope you'll stay with me.
In the meantime, hopefully, these photographs of China roses I found in the front garden of a home in Grove Park last June will remind you of the beauty in the world.
When it all feels overwhelming, stop, take a deep breath and smell the roses.
white apples and berries
the reindeer section
My life is currently so chaotic, messy and stressful that I almost forgot it's time for season's grievings.
My current mood is something akin to this reindeer Christmas decoration on a child's grave in Pinner New Cemetery that I photographed just under a year ago.
I'm sharing this for patrons only a few hours instead of two days early to allow me to catch up.
I'll post the second image for this year later today, which will be closer to a day early.
The third will be posted tomorrow, two days early, and then I'll be back on schedule.
While I'm here and referencing the Scottish supergroup with my title for today's instalment, I highly recommend giving them a listen (if you haven't previously), specifically their second album, Son of Evil Reindeer.
sweet pea
A Lathyrus odoratus plant in one of my client's gardens.
dog daisy afternoon
I promise you, I've been taking more photos than you can poke a stick at.
However, I haven't had a chance to edit anything for weeks, so I'm sharing this photograph from the same client's garden I shared my last two from, edited about 20 days ago.
As I highlighted in a previous post, I had a weekend with my regulars from 6-10 September.
I had a delightful three-night stay (and lots of cheese with ash and flowers!) (that doesn't sound so appetising when I type it out) from 12-15 September on the Isle of Portland in Dorset with my fellow photographer and friend, Phil.
And I spent the better part of last week playing tour guide to Dad and Cheryl while they were in London.
I can't complain about any of it.
That's not to say - for reasons I won't go into here and now - that it's all been smooth sailing and that I'm not physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. I am.
Between Dad and Cheryl's continuing travels, trying to find a new flatmate and three sittings in October, I don't think my stress levels will drop much.
Despite that, I hope to share photos that aren't flowers with you from my recent travels very soon, some other creative outputs, and maybe even catch up on some sleep.
We'll see.
I hope you're all staying well, hugging those you love and doing what you love as much as possible.
These beauties are Leucanthemum vulgare, also known as ox-eye daisy, dog daisy and marguerite.
As with many of the flowers I've been drawn to photograph, dog daisies are deemed an invasive species in many places, including my native country.
However, ox-eye daisies are widely recognised as the national flower in Denmark, and apparently, "the unopened flower buds can be marinated and used in a similar way to capers". Mmm... capers.
Cows don't fancy eating them, though. And those that do "produce milk with an undesirable flavour".
used for garlands
Some Lychnis coronaria or Silene coronaria, also known as rose campion, photographed in summer in one of my pet-sitting client's gardens.
According to Wikipedia, 'The Latin coronaria means "used for garlands"'.
hither green crematorium
to a beloved | qui riposa
dog rose
I captured this rosa canina, commonly known as dog rose, and bearing the fruit, rose hip (though not fruiting when I photographed it) on my walk past Grove Park Nature Reserve to Hither Green Cemetery earlier in the month.
There are various theories for the origins of the plant's name. As you might imagine, my favoured one (though likely not scientifically proven) is that the plant can cure the bite of a mad or rabid dog.
As with many flowers and plants, it's the county flower in one country (Hampshire, England) and an invasive weed in others (NZ and Australia).
But it is pretty.
haunted by ghosts it is easy to become a ghost
purity and innocence
let me hold your heart like a flower
darkened windows
These are the first and penultimate photos I took with my D700 when visiting Margate with friends in September 2016 (in reverse order).
A building near Dreamland that I imagine is long gone almost eight years later.
Abandoned and/or derelict buildings almost always catch my eye. They're so photogenic.
pyrus communis
Flowers of the common pear tree, captured on my photo walk from Delamere to Kelsall last month.
pay here
she hath done what she could
Often, when I'm perusing my catalogue of unedited photos to share, one will pop out at me, and I just know it's right to share at this moment in time.
It may not always be the most eye-catching or aesthetically pleasing photograph.
But it captures where my mind or heart is right now.
Or it depicts a place, an object, a plant, etc., that - when I research it further - is relevant to something in my life at that moment and clicks.
This photograph I took in Cornubia Lutheran Cemetery, also known as Carbrook Lutheran Cemetery, did that for me today.
