A nocturnal florist · est. under a waning moon
Some flowers keep the day at arm's length. They wait for the light to leave, then open — pale, luminous, and heavy with scent. We grow them, cut them, and bring them to your table after dark.
The Blooms · IV nocturnes
Scroll each one and watch it wake — every bloom on this page unfurls as it enters the light, the same way it would on the vine at nightfall.
Ipomoea alba
A morning-glory that got the hours wrong. Palm-wide white trumpets spiral open in a few held minutes as the sun drops, then pour out a clean, lemon-cool perfume to call the hawk moths in. By first light they've furled shut and gone soft as wet paper.
Oenothera biennis
The one you can actually watch. Its four pale-gold petals shrug loose from the bud in real time — a slow, visible unclench you can time with a candle. Sit close enough and you'll hear the faint tick of the sepals letting go.
Cestrum nocturnum
Plain by daylight — a scatter of narrow green-white stars you'd walk straight past. Then nine o'clock arrives and the scent does too, arriving before you find the plant: honeyed, dizzying, carried three gardens over on the cool air. Lady of the Night, and she knows it.
Epiphyllum oxypetalum
A plain, awkward cactus for fifty-one weeks, then — once, briefly, and never announced — a single dinner-plate bloom the colour of the moon itself. It opens near midnight, holds court until dawn, and is finished forever by morning. People set alarms. We do too.
Arrangements · for after-dark hours
signature
Our wedding bouquet for ceremonies that start when the sky goes violet. Moonflower and night jasmine bound loose in trailing ivy, cut an hour before the vows so the scent lands exactly as you say them. Whites that hold their glow under string-light and flame.
from £180
A pale hand-tied posy that seems to hold light of its own — the one that glows on a dim dinner table.
from £64
Deep plum and bruise-black blooms against a single moon-white throat. Dramatic, a little dangerous, very us.
from £92
A low, loose garland for the length of a long table — night stocks and primrose that open through the meal.
from £120
The Ritual
Because night flowers were never built for looking. They were built for finding. A day bloom shouts in colour to a bee that hunts by sight; a night bloom has no such luxury. It goes pale — white and pale-gold carry furthest in moonlight — and then it does the braver thing. It sends out scent, a slow perfume unspooled into the dark until some moth, half a mile off, turns and follows it home.
To keep a night garden is to garden by nose and by patience. You plant for a season you'll mostly sleep through. You learn the exact blue minute a primrose lets go, and you're there for it, or you're not. There's a small witchcraft in that — tending a thing that only reveals itself once the world stops watching.
— cut by hand, after sundown, on the nights the moon allows.
Visit & order
The shop is dark all day on purpose. Come by once the streetlights hum on — or order before three and we'll cut it fresh for tonight.