13 June 2025

We have been astonished by Paul’s Himalayan Musk. It was originally planted beside the cherry tree but over the years has climbed higher and higher as befits its Himalayan name. It is  now cascading down through the cherry branches like the hanging baskets of Babylon.

It is not only the colour of the tiny roses which astounds.  Of themselves, they are a marvel for they range through red, pink and white in assorted gradations according to the time of their birth and their passing. But the wonder of the musk is its fragrance.

It seems to me to be stronger when the rose is first in bloom but you can bury your face in the fading splendour and imagine you are in heaven. It is the smell of old rose. A number of the English roses in the garden smell similiarly.

As it happens, the bird feeders are hanging on the cherry tree – some heart shaped sunflower seeds and some fat balls. They have attracted a family of sparrows whose acrobatics at the feeders  are enriched by the colourful backdrop of the Himalayan musk.

A rogue starling has even attempted to eat some fat. His body was too big for circus tricks. He only manages to seek out some titbits by keeping his body steady during the pecking by frantically flapping his wings. He works hard but exhaustion inevitably means his harvesting is unsustainable.

Like all nature’s treasures they do not last. They are fleeting, momentary, evanescent.  Colin and Eloise are going to be sitting under the cherry tree on their wedding day but the Himalayan musk will have gone but the memory will linger in our hearts and infuse the wedding day with the tree’s hospitable splendour.