During the week, my beloved rescued a plant from one of his sporting clubs. It was growing where there is due to be some ground clearing work done and, being soft hearted, he couldn't bear to think that such a beautiful plant, growing stubbornly in a little patch of chalky soil, would be destroyed. By the time he managed to bring it home the bloom on it had sadly dropped off but I knew from his enthusiasm that Fickle Phoebe was worth trying to save. We potted her in some chalky soil and tucked her into a quiet spot in the garden with fingers tightly crossed. Despite careful watering, not too much and not too little while she settles in, the leaves and buds have been up and down more often than I could keep track of - one minute wilted and then suddenly perking up again - with no real rhyme nor reason. Hence the name Fickle Phoebe!
This morning our patience was spectacularly rewarded:
I'm almost sure she's a peony poppy and truly beautiful with it!
Happy, happy Sunday!