The procession of the seasons never really gives us the excuse to feel sorry for ourselves. Like the procession of the stars, the seasons (and all plants have their individual seasons), begin and end at the same time and place. I remember what a revelation it was, when I was very young, to discover that where the leaves fell from the conker trees, the new bud – perfectly formed – was all ready to go. In general the plants in autumn and winter are more sculptural and in spring and summer, the more painterly hues and impressionist sweeps of colour take precedence, but there’s never a time when nothing is happening. Just now much of the action is at ground level where the rosettes of next years plants are in plain view. Go take a look – it’s all there!
