The snowdrops photographed in The Arno have almost finished flowering already. They spiral away from the tree trunk, blurring into a more naturalistic planting style nearer to the hedge. This small urban garden in Oxton is maintained by volunteers. Nobody seems sure why it's named The Arno. Possibly it's a corruption of some old Viking word or phrase meaning "high point" or "eagles nest here" - the jury is out.
Most of the garden is given over to a series of tidy beds which, when viewed overall, make a geometric version of a rose. Each bed is filled with roses. At this time of the year, the roses look like a snarl of dormant sticks.
Of much greater interest to me is the cottage garden border which runs along one side of the park. This holds a variety of traditional plants such as honesty, hellebores and elephant's ears, and a host of wildflowers which have either been deliberately planted or which have have helped themselves to a patch of unmanicured earth.
At the top of The Arno stands a thicket of old trees. An uneven path winds down to Oxton Fields, which are fields and they're in Oxton. No mystery lingers over names here.
Our dogs love this bit, as they can safely gallop around off-lead, play chase and merrily knock each other flying. It's what dogs like to do.
Richard likes this bit as there are a couple of charity shops on nearby Woodchurch Road, which means he gets to scour the shelves for any CDs or DVDs he might fancy. It's what he likes to do.
And I like this bit as there're a few benches where it's pleasant to sit and sketch the Welsh hills on the horizon, or study the unfettered sky as clouds amble sideways on their way to wherever. That's what I like to do.
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