Witch Hazel

January is the month I most need colour, and Jelena delivers it when almost nothing else will. While the garden is bare and brown and everyone's talking about their spring plans, this extraordinary shrub unfurls clusters of spidery, coppery-orange flowers directly on its naked branches. No leaves, no fanfare — just these fragile, ribbon-like petals twisted against bare wood and cold grey sky.

The colour is warm in a way that feels almost defiant in midwinter. A deep, glowing copper-orange that catches the low January sun and burns. I planted mine where I can see it from the kitchen window, and on bright winter mornings the backlit flowers look like tiny flames along the branches.

And then there's the scent. Sweet, spicy, warm — like cloves and honey with something citrusy underneath. On a still winter day it carries surprisingly far. I've caught it on the air walking up the garden path and felt genuinely grateful. A flower that smells this good in the coldest month of the year is doing something heroic.

The autumn colour is almost as good as the winter flowers — the leaves turn a spectacular mix of orange, red, and amber before dropping, and then a few weeks later the flowers arrive on the bare branches. She earns her place in the garden twice over.

You can cut a few stems and bring them inside, where the warmth will intensify the scent and encourage the flowers to open further. A few branches in a tall vase in the hallway is my favourite January arrangement — sculptural, fragrant, and proof that the garden hasn't forgotten you.