In Memoriam

My friend died this time last year. She was 43. We had been friends since childhood. The last time I saw her she was showing me her garden and all the things she had been growing from seed, and her vegetable patch. She loved nature and looked after any injured birds that would happen to pass her garden. When I picture her, in my mind, I can see and hear her telling me about what she is going to do next in her garden.

She died very suddenly last May, due to a blood clot in her brain. It is still very hard to come to terms with that her death was unnecessary. We miss her greatly.

Shortly after, I collected some flowers from her garden, flowers that she had been showing me in bud, excitement at things beginning to bloom. Plants she had looked after everyday. I pressed them in a book, and recently I made them into some pictures.

I took lots of photos of them, as I know the colours will fade over time. I didn't mean the black one to look morbid, just that the colours of the flowers showed up better on a dark background.

The hills are shadows, and they flow

From form to form, and nothing stands;

They melt like mist, the solid lands,

Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

Alfred Lord Tennyson 1850

That excerpt is from a longer poem the author wrote about his friend who also died suddenly from a brain haemorrhage age 22. My home looks over the Tennyson Downs near to where he lived, so it seemed apt to quote it here.

May is a beautiful month and I am very grateful to be around to enjoy it. Marie, I picked these for you.