Pink lilies and swirls on the ribs

The stargazer bulbs came up in the walled garden on Tuesday, three weeks ahead of anything the almanac promised, and I have decided it is a sign, though Prior Hugh says I have decided that about every second thing since Lent. Still, you should see them. Pink as a bishop's cope, spotted dark inside as if someone flicked a brush at them, and the bud on the end not yet ready to open, leaning over the others as if it is waiting to be told.

I have been trying to draw them for the scriptorium wall, since the fresco man never came back from Lincoln. The swirls are the difficulty. Brother Oswin says the scrolls round the flowers ought to be stone-grey, like the mist that lies on the river at dawn, so that the petals seem lit from inside. I said the mist would have to wait for the pigment merchant, who has not been seen since Michaelmas, and so I used charcoal from the bread oven. It smudges, and I think the smudging is an improvement.

Here is what I did not expect. On Wednesday I cut the three open ones for the altar, and Sister Ruth from the infirmary came to take the stems for her tinctures. She stood in the cold doorway and said nothing for so long I thought she was praying. Then she asked whether lilies could be trained up a wall, the way the old abbey roses were. I said I did not know. She said she would find out, and went away with a bundle under her arm like a child.

I have put the bud in a jug on the sill, where the light comes through the wavy glass. It has not opened yet. I am in no hurry for it.