It's been a bit more than a year since I lost my mom. It's funny how often my thoughts turn to her when I'm out and about in nature. May you have a beautiful and comforting spring.
I hesitated about posting about the anniversary, not wanting to make a kind of self-conscious feature of bereavement here, as it were. And of course I think of her so much of the time anyway, I wasn't sure how important it was to mark the passing of a particular time.
But in the event I found it was much on my mind, and wanted to mark it in some fashion. And spring is so resonant, and as Kurt says, comforting in fact, with so much bright hopeful beauty. The apple blossoms particularly make me think of her.
The almost unbearable, but also all the more precious, beauty of the Spring she won't see. Yes, I know this. And your Finestere poem was a very fine expression of it. Warmest wishes.
11 comments:
Thinking of you...
It's been a bit more than a year since I lost my mom. It's funny how often my thoughts turn to her when I'm out and about in nature. May you have a beautiful and comforting spring.
(o)
dear lucy, my thoughts are with you. i am so sorry for your loss.
Oh Lucy! One year without her. My warmest thoughts I send to you.
Thanks people.
I hesitated about posting about the anniversary, not wanting to make a kind of self-conscious feature of bereavement here, as it were. And of course I think of her so much of the time anyway, I wasn't sure how important it was to mark the passing of a particular time.
But in the event I found it was much on my mind, and wanted to mark it in some fashion. And spring is so resonant, and as Kurt says, comforting in fact, with so much bright hopeful beauty. The apple blossoms particularly make me think of her.
The almost unbearable, but also all the more precious, beauty of the Spring she won't see. Yes, I know this. And your Finestere poem was a very fine expression of it. Warmest wishes.
(O)
Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air...
--Pablo Neruda
((o))
Lovely remembrance, Lucy.
An old favourite, the neglected William Morris. And a beautiful commemoration.
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