WhatAprilBroughtIn

ThefirstOntarioranunculusarrivedonaTuesday,stillcoldfromthetruck,theirpetalspressedtightlikefistsrefusingtoopen.Withintwodaysthestudiosmelleddifferent.Winterhasitsownbeauty—quincebranches,driedlunaria,thesculpturalseverityofbaremagnolia—butthereisnothingquitelikethemomentthepalettesoftensandthecoolersfillwithcolourthatbruisesifyouholdittoofirmly.





