Bet you couldn't read that without singing the verses. Peace descended upon my horticultural heart this weekend. I finished all my commissions for this year; all designs are designed; all borders renovated; all tasks completed. My drawing board in the west-facing study upstairs stands empty and my collection of rainbow-coloured drawing pens, my templates and my beloved HB pencils are tidied back into their boxes and won't be allowed to emerge until early next year. In the tool shed my spades are washed, oiled and hung up in their racks. My gardening gear laundered and stored in the hot press. Only those blasted hyacinths need potting up. December stretches ahead of me in one long, luxurious, self-indulgent, glorious reading session. New plants for drought resistant conditions; hostas bred for deeper shade; some glass house newbies; water gardening to include salad crops that is definitely not hydroponics; on and on my reading list stretches... a gardener's paradise. "...Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
"Glory to the newborn King."