Antique Swedish Herbarium - Purple Marshlocks, circa 1908
There you are, knee-deep in a misty bog somewhere north of reason, your boots sinking ever so slightly into the damp earth. The air smells of moss and mystery. And then—there it is. Comarum palustre, the Marsh Cinquefoil.
Not your typical garden flower. It doesn’t throw its petals wide like some overeager debutante. Instead, it leans into the quiet drama of the wetlands—deep wine-red petals, almost velvet, stretching out like a slow exhale. A flower for the poets, the brooding naturalists, the ones who know that beauty is best when you have to wade for it.
The old herbalists said it had a knack for healing—something about easing inflammations, fortifying the weary traveler. Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s just legend. But if you find yourself out there, with the sun glinting off the water and the reeds whispering your name, one thing is certain: Comarum palustre knows something you don’t.
And wouldn’t you like to find out what?
There you are, knee-deep in a misty bog somewhere north of reason, your boots sinking ever so slightly into the damp earth. The air smells of moss and mystery. And then—there it is. Comarum palustre, the Marsh Cinquefoil.
Not your typical garden flower. It doesn’t throw its petals wide like some overeager debutante. Instead, it leans into the quiet drama of the wetlands—deep wine-red petals, almost velvet, stretching out like a slow exhale. A flower for the poets, the brooding naturalists, the ones who know that beauty is best when you have to wade for it.
The old herbalists said it had a knack for healing—something about easing inflammations, fortifying the weary traveler. Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s just legend. But if you find yourself out there, with the sun glinting off the water and the reeds whispering your name, one thing is certain: Comarum palustre knows something you don’t.
And wouldn’t you like to find out what?
There you are, knee-deep in a misty bog somewhere north of reason, your boots sinking ever so slightly into the damp earth. The air smells of moss and mystery. And then—there it is. Comarum palustre, the Marsh Cinquefoil.
Not your typical garden flower. It doesn’t throw its petals wide like some overeager debutante. Instead, it leans into the quiet drama of the wetlands—deep wine-red petals, almost velvet, stretching out like a slow exhale. A flower for the poets, the brooding naturalists, the ones who know that beauty is best when you have to wade for it.
The old herbalists said it had a knack for healing—something about easing inflammations, fortifying the weary traveler. Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s just legend. But if you find yourself out there, with the sun glinting off the water and the reeds whispering your name, one thing is certain: Comarum palustre knows something you don’t.
And wouldn’t you like to find out what?
9.5” x 15.75”
Custom framing available upon request, please inquire.