Probably not what the lovely Tara of the sticky fingers blog meant with the prompt, but it works in my mind!
This is a flower in my back garden - nigella, aka love-in-the-mist.
It hasn't flowered yet, but you can see that it's right on the brink of bursting into the light. There are a few different colours of the flowers - some a pinky shade, and some white too, but the blue is my favourite. It's only at this point, so close to opening, that you can see what colour the flower will be.
One of the clearest and most precious memories that I have of my maternal grandfather is walking with him up and down the path in his garden, with him bending down and showing me his favourite plants. There were hazel trees, strawberries, rhubarb, blackcurrents, apple trees, gooseberry bushes, a pear tree, canes with baby bean or pea plants just beginning to twirl around - all basking in the attention of my Papa's green fingers. It was beautiful, and as I spotted butterflies swirling around he named them for me.
Very much a part of the 'Dig For Victory' generation, Papa also made his own wine, and syrup flavoured with elderflower, rhubarb or rosehip. Everything he planted had a use - or almost all.
Coming to the end of the path, having followed the looping path around the garden and back towards the house again, Papa grew quiet. He knelt next to a riot of fluffy green foliage and delicate blue flowers.
'These' he told me, 'were your grandmothers favourite flower. She said I could plant whatever I wanted in the rest of the garden as long as I made sure she had daffodils in spring and sweet peas through the summer, but most importantly of all, love-in-the-mist somewhere she could see from the kitchen.'
Papa died when I was twelve, but every year that I've had a garden (or a chunky pot by the front door!), I've had love-in-the-mist.
So, a close up of a flower that is intertwined with a slew of personal memories - happy ones.