Small Delights Blog

The small delight of the cherry blossom

The small delight of the cherry blossom

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Think of spring and we think of daffodils, tulips- and blossom. There is something about blossom which brings joy to us all. The delicate colours, the fragility, and the way it explodes on what were until recently bare branches.

Our old cherry tree is now a mass of blossom – a particular delight as the tree looked dead and we weren’t expecting any blossom at all this year.  I find myself lingering at the kitchen sink rather longer than usual to enjoy it while it lasts.

The Japanese see cherry blossom as a symbol for the ephemeral nature of life. May our lives, however long, all have moments as full and beautiful as the cherry blossom. 

the small delight of the seedhead

the small delight of the seedhead

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This seedhead was one of many lying under a tree in Portugal last month. A plant app identified it as mimosa, but I can’t find a photo online to confirm that.

Whatever the tree, the seedhead was intriguing. It’s large – maybe 4cm in diameter- and bowl-shaped, and beginning to split open like a clam shell to release the seeds within.

That got me pondering how amazing seeds are, and what a journey they have, often through the body of a bird. Some are like little parasols, carried along by the wind. Some germinate close to the mother tree, others far away. 

One intriguing seed journey is that of the acorn. Oaks often grow alone. We tend to think of squirrels burying acorns, but studies show that up to half of the oak trees in the UK were planted by the jay. ‘Planted’ may not be what the jay had in mind. Burying as a future food source was clearly the intention. But the jay puts more acorns in the earth than its family needs to eat, and so the rest are in effect ‘planted’ and given the chance to grow. And the jays choice of open land or the edge of woodland ensures the seedling has sufficient light. 

Coming back to my seedhead – let me know if you recognise it!

the elegance of the palm tree

the elegance of the palm tree

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Palm trees have long held a fascination for me. The rough trunks, the way the branches sway in the breeze like fans, and the fact that they tend to be found in hot and often exotic places.

I have seen a number of palm trees recently, and been struck by how different they are from each other. The trunks are all textured, but different.  Some of them are full of lumps and bumps. Some have diamond patterns that  almost look like huge pine cone. Others just have vertical lines. I don’t know which are which, but I find them all intriguing. 

A quick look at Wikipedia tells me “Many common products and foods are derived from palms” which is quite astounding. I also learn there are over 2,500 species – so many more to discover and draw. 

The small delight of the snowdrop

The small delight of the snowdrop

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A couple of days ago I looked out of the kitchen window to see snowdrops! It really was a delightful moment. They had not been apparent the previous day.

What do snowdrops mean to you? To me they represent strength, resilience and perseverance. These delicate looking plants are anything but. They have survived freezing temperatures and pushed up through the dark, cold earth to finally reach the light, when we can enjoy their beautiful display. It is surprising from how far away we can see their dazzling white flowers – almost like little lanterns

My painting is in acrylic on wood, dark dark green, and white tinged with pale green, and hopes to convey something of the snowdrop’s power.

The small delight of the toxic hellebore

The small delight of the toxic hellebore

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We were recently given a present of a beautiful hellebore. At the moment we are enjoying it as a houseplant, but it will really be happier outdoors, and we’ll plant it outside as soon as the cold snap finishes. 

Meanwhile I’m enjoying having it indoors, and having the chance to draw it without getting cold! I love its thick, creamy petals, and seeing the seed heads develop.

Hellebores are lovely to have in the garden.  Their flowers, unusually, do not drop, but gradually fade to pale green and eventually dry, thus seeming to flower for months, from winter to spring.

The French know the hellebore as Rose de noёl (Christmas rose) or Rose d’hiver (Winter rose). We in the UK also tend to call it the Christmas rose, or sometimes the Lenten rose. Hellebores are not related to the rose family, but the similarity of shape with the wild rose is clear. 

Although beautiful, all parts of the plant are toxic. According to Wikipedia, the ancient Greeks reportedly used hellebore to poison the water supply during the siege of Kirrha (585BC) leaving the occupants of the city too weak to defend it.

music of the angels?

music of the angels?

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In the run up to Christmas, you may well have placed a star on your Christmas tree, or somewhere in the house. 

As you look at it, consider the mind-boggling fact that the stars sing!

Nasa’s Elizabeth Landau says, “we can’t hear it with our ears, but the stars in the sky are performing a concert, one that never stops. The biggest stars make the lowest, deepest sounds, like tubas and double basses. Small stars have high-pitched voices, like celestial flutes. These virtuosos don’t just play one ‘note’ at a time, either. Our own sun has thousands of different sound waves bouncing around inside it at any given moment.”

Wishing you all a Very Merry Christmas!

Thank you for following along with my drawings this year.

The small delight of a frosted cobweb

The small delight of a frosted cobweb

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Much as I wish I could, I can’t say I like spiders – but I do admire them. A recent frosty morning showed up how industrious they are – the garden was full of cobwebs. I also admire their their artistry. How beautiful the webs looked, the spirals and ladders picked out in tiny beads of frost.

Traces of cobwebs have been found in amber, showing how long they have existed. The ancient Greeks and Romans used spider silk poultices to stop the bleeding of battle wounds. Spider silk is incredibly tough, and has a place in modern medicine too.

This frosty cobweb occupied a space at the back of our garden bench, corners thoroughly secured, a tight coil in the centre.

Of course these cobwebs are there every morning- but it takes the frost or rain to reveal them to our eyes. What a lot we miss!

The small delight of waiting

The small delight of waiting

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This week’s small delight is an Amaryllis. I enjoyed looking at and drawing the curves of the leaves and the layers around the top of the bulb.

But there is also delight in the waiting for what is to come. The shoot, only about 4 inches high at the moment, has much growth to put on during Advent.  And then there will be the splendour of two bright red flowers at Christmas (I hope!). 

The small delight of watching water

The small delight of watching water

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A little colour this week.

There is something fascinating about water. Fascinating, and also calming. Amid the recent rain we have had the odd pocket of sun and blue sky, allowing a brief walk by the river before the next shower. After all the rain, the rivers are high and flowing fast. No mirror surfaces with perfect reflections at the moment, but wonderful patterns, whirls and eddies.

The Small delight of Wordle

The Small delight of Wordle

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What’s your favourite coffee break puzzle? A crossword? Sudoku? I love Wordle.

It’s such a simple game. It doesn’t require a lot of knowledge or time; anyone can play it and it’s rare that the word can’t be found in the 6 goes allowed.

I also love the story behind it. The inventor came up with it for his friends and family during lockdown, eventually making it public – for free – in 2021. Eventually it was bought for a lot of money by the New York Times.

It’s a quick but satisfying game – especially so on the rare occasions when I can solve it in 2 goes.