Promises, promises

This post is number 35 in a series.

Moonflowers. Hyacinth beans. A Mandevilla I got from the big garden on Saturday. A sweet-scented white-flowered shrub that makes glaucous, dark-blue berries, nabbed from friend Cini's terrace. My own cannas, years old. An Ipomoea, ditto. And a tomato from somewhere down in Puglia that stays green and has a firm, juicy texture and wonderful flavour.

I love sowing seeds. There is such promise in them. And such difficulty in keeping away for a few days, because watched seed pots are like watched kettles, But then there’s that bulge in the surface, and something emerges, and all’s right with the world.