THE high winds which have wreaked havoc through the borders have helpfully provided material for a flower display.
While tidying up after the storm, I noticed some small sunflowers had been ripped at the heel from the main stem and wilting fast.
Desperate not to waste them before they hit their prime I plunged them in a jar of water and watched over a number of hours as they slowly revived.
I was intrigued by how the lower leaves which were withered at first were ironed out as the water reached them and how the flower heads were eventually plumped and turned themselves to the sun.
So pleased by their progress, I nipped outside again with scissors to snip at cosmos which had become distorted as damaged stems struggled any which way to reach the light.
These were joined by calendula which seemed to make all the colours 'pop'.
With so much productivity in the vegetable garden, it is easy to forget there is a flower harvest to be had.
And the charm of a bunch of my own flowers is their crookedness, the fact they are simply plonked into any vessel, a jam jar or old sauce bottle.
It is only in imperfection that you find perfection, I think.
There has been a second coming of colour in the borders.
The rose 'Reine des Violettes' has flowered again, providing a rich intensity against the dark leaves and glossy berries of the sambucus nigra.
I have been delighted by the return of an unknown variety of honeysuckle which has come into flower after stuttering for many years.
It once flowered on the south facing wall of the house, but while growing steadily, had stopped producing any flowers to speak of.
So I moved it a few seasons back to scramble through a badly-positioned eucalyptus tree. And it has suddenly found life to the great relief of the pollinators who continue to forage in the garden.
It feels as though there are less of them now.
I still see moths at dusk, but I haven't seen the bats for a few days. There are still drunk wasps and craneflies about.
But now is the time for spiders.
I love how little wet pearls form on their webs on soft, still mornings though I hate walking into them.
Their ubiquity has prompted a kinder reaction from me.
A born arachnaphobe, I would once have flushed away any spider which crossed my path, if I could muster the guts.
But I have found launching a rescue from the house and into the garden is easily achieved with a long handle barbecue tong and determination.