"I woke up; I go to the window, open the curtain. I don't know why! In the middle of night, usually I don't do that. Something drove me... And then I was freeze-framed! The lightship showed one light after the other, in such intensity!"

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When the ice of winter holds the house in its rigid grip, when curtains are drawn against that vast frozen waste of landscape, almost like a hibernating hedgehog I relish the security of being withdrawn from all that summer ferment that is long since past. Then is the time for reappraisal: to spread out, limp and receptive, and let garden thoughts rise to the surface. They emerge from some deep source of stillness which the very fact of winter has released.

— Mirabel Osler