Summer wore a white dress with a pattern of small flowers, stained with berries. She didn't linger. The hem of her skirt was already fraying in sympathy with the downy seeds she leaves in her wake: thistle, rosebay willowherb, traveller's joy.
A tribute to all summers that are no more. Especially the one that seems so very unreal now when she who was not a mother yet collected flowers and pressed their colours into silk.
The colours are subtle and complex, sometimes almost iridescent and I admit it's a struggle to do them justice in photos.
The five necklaces will be in the shop on Friday.