Sedum

If I had to pick one plant that earns its place for all twelve months of the year, it might be 'Autumn Joy.' In spring, the fleshy, jade-green rosettes of new growth are attractive in themselves. In summer, the flat-topped flower heads develop in a cool sage green. In autumn — and this is when it really comes into its own — those heads turn from dusky pink through salmon to a deep, rich rust-red. And in winter, the dried brown heads stand like architectural punctuation through frost and snow.

Four seasons of interest from a single plant that asks for almost nothing. That's a remarkable return.

The autumn colour change is the best part. It happens slowly, over weeks, and at any given time you'll have heads at different stages — some still pink, some deepening to copper, some already that dark wine-red. The effect is like watching autumn happen in miniature on a single plant.

Butterflies love the flat flower heads in their pink stage — red admirals and peacocks land on them like tiny aircraft on a landing pad. I've sat in the garden on warm September afternoons watching five or six butterflies work a single plant, which is about as close to meditation as I get.

I cut a few stems for the house in early autumn and they last extraordinarily well — the succulent stems hold water and the flower heads gradually darken on the table, which is its own kind of slow, beautiful decay.