The tulips arrived from the market this week. Pale, upright, not yet fully open — the kind that take a few days to find themselves in a room.

They went straight into the cast iron vases. It was not a considered decision. It simply felt right — the weight and darkness of the iron against the delicacy of the blooms, the rough texture of the metal against petals that are almost translucent in the morning light…

There is no single moment when winter ends. It retreats gradually, almost reluctantly, leaving behind habits that take a little longer to follow.

The candlesticks come off the mantelpiece first. Not stored away — simply replaced, for now, by whatever the garden or the hedgerow is offering. A jar of narcissus. A stem or two of hellebore, nodding…

The last week of February brings a subtle loosening.

Doors are opened without quite meaning to. Air moves through the house for an hour or two, then retreats again as the temperature drops…

The pelargoniums are leaning hard towards the window now, pale stems stretching for what little warmth the glass allows. They know before we do. The light is shifting, even if the air remains sharp…