After several days of brilliant sunshine in the mountains it had turned cold and wet when I went to see Trish. We sat in her kitchen, drinking tea, dogs slumbering by the oil heater. We talked, as we always do, of this and that. Of important things and silly things.
Her garden is blooming in all its springtime glory. She uses her artist's eye to group colours in an apparently relaxed but entirely thoughtful way. It is a steep garden and she has carved out terraces, carrying heavy loads of rock, soil and mulch up and down narrow stone stairs.