Cyclamens are like magic.

I give up on watering them during summer. Even in winter they are thirsty things, needing near-daily watering. In the hot sun and the dry air of the summer, it’s hopeless to try and keep them watered and alive. So they wither down to dead-looking lumps.

And then suddenly they decide that the world is now in a liveable state again and send out new shoots. That’s when I bring them back to the kitchen from their exile on the living room’s shadiest windowsill, and start watering them again.