Watching the seasons change has brought me exceptional joy this year and as my world imperceptibly transitions into winter, I can’t help but feel content with my earnest appreciation of nature’s curious habits.
With little else to mark the passing of time, we have perhaps begun to observe periods of our lives in a manner more akin to that of our ancestors.
Rather than referring to the weekend of ‘that party’, I’ve come to think of weeks as represented by ‘that plant’ instead.
In March, the spring flowers assertively propelling themselves through the earth inevitably introduced a small smile to my face with each commute.
In October, the autumnal avenue of trees glittering in the seasonal sun provoked something profoundly warm within me.
Whilst I harbour a tender love for seeing the world’s flora flourish and fade, I’m fortunate to be able to bring pockets of the outdoors into the heart of my home.
I remember once hearing of an article that cannily claimed my generation are so preoccupied with acquiring houseplants that we’ve forgotten about the importance of owning the home said plants are sitting in.
If only it was as easy as popping to the shops to buy a nice pot.
In lieu of revelling in the security of so-called fixed assets, I believe we are actually learning a more perspicacious lesson.
Although the attraction of houseplants and bouquets may lie in their obvious charm, they require dedication, care and compassion.
They remind me too that whilst the boscage we so admire possesses an innate fragility, it has long outlived and will outlast us all.
My favourite flower is Gypsophila, more commonly known as ‘Baby’s Breath’.
Coincidentally, I recently discovered it’s also recognised as ‘Bristol Fairy’, making its poignancy all the greater being that this is the city I hail from.
I’m drawn to them because they’re sweetly understated. To me, this mass of cloudy white blooms captures the essence of ephemerality, gently juxtaposing exquisite delicacy with robust beauty.
Of course, this argument can be made for any natural entity. Despite not wishing to admit it, we too attest to life’s fleeting disposition.
But I think we and our horticultural counterparts are rather alike and not just in this undeniably bittersweet way.
Freshly meeting many new minds means I’ve been nudged into once again acknowledging that it takes both time and empathy to truly come to know someone.
A beautifully vital part of this process is accepting that we are as frangible as petals.
An equally crucial element is recognising that there’s an inherent strength in the whole.
It may seem trivial and tenuous, or nebulous and negligible, but I don’t think it can only by I who thinks this way.
After all, there are far worse things to invest in than the life-affirming attributes of greenery.
Modernish 