tiny flowers and brilliant Brits

 The only flowers in my garden are these petite blue scilla. 

Several years ago I planted lots of bulbs, but every year fewer appear. 

I assume squirrels have taken them. Or garden gnomes.

 No daffodils bloomed this year, or even crocus. But lilies of the valley are on their way 

and before you know there will be so many pictures of peonies here
that the internets will break and we'll have to start sending each other letters
and photographs. On paper.

Doesn't Aji look like a giant?

My andromeda shrubs are laden with delicate bells.

After the winter we had I'm especially grateful for these sweet small blossoms.

(The wedding was almost a year ago, and I've finally framed some pictures.)

After reading this piece in the New Yorker, I've been on a Barbara Pym

kick. Her novels of domestic life in post World War II England are witty and delightful, with enough astringency to keep them from being too cozy, but they also fall into the category of comfort reading. I thoroughly enjoyed Jane and Prudence ,  Excellent Women and Some Tame Gazelle.

Also, Wolf Hall on PBS via BBC is brilliant (as are the books it's based on).

Now, visit Small but Charming for more Flowers in the House
and to see our dear friend Jane.