Purple delphinium flowers on the ribs

The delphiniums came up along the cliff path the week after you sailed, the way they always do when the wind has been out of the west a long time. Mam said they were larkspur when she was a girl, and that the old folk on Scarth knew them as knights and ladies, though I never found out which was which. I cut a bunch for the lamp room windowsill because the keeper's table is bare and I could not bear it any longer.

Mr Pryce has stopped complaining about the smell of the paraffin since I started bringing them up. He says the blue of them is the colour the sea goes an hour before the fog. I told him he was being soft, but I think he is right. The buds at the top never open all at once. They go up the stem one at a time, the lowest flower first, so every morning there is one more bell than the day before. I have been counting them against the calendar you pinned by the door.

Last night the fog came in thick and I climbed the stairs with the cloth to wipe the glass. Two of the big blooms had dropped their petals onto the sill, dark purple with pale edges, like the lining of a good coat. I kept one. It is pressed in the back of your letter tin now, so when you open it you will smell the summer, which is a poor trade for the storms, but it is what I have.

Come home by the first of the month if the wind lets you. The stems will be nearly done by then, and I want you to see the last of them before they go to seed.

Your sister, Nell