My Dearest Boy,
Another week has passed by so quickly. Your Mummy has a folder of all the colouring, writing and crafting you have been doing. Daddy has sent me videos of you riding your scooter; eating sweetcorn and chocolate (not together) and looking for Nana’s house on a map. My time seems to be filled with zoom meetings (a word I had not heard of a month ago); rediscovering baking skills; planting new soft fruit bushes and of course, walking. Spring moves on. The ferns unravel like treble clefs. I still rise early. The skylark still “sings it’s heart out at all dark matter”. It is still needed.
This morning I had a want to walk far. There was a place which called which I knew would suit my mood. I trudged in slow time towards a wood until I turned a corner to be greeted by a hazy carpet of shimmering sapphire bells.
Thomas Hardy’s word for them was “greggles”. Just for once I don’t feel it fits.
This was Creation at its best. The dewy fleshiness of scent as the sun now warmed the earth was reflected in the fullness of the petals. The bell heads looking almost too heavy to be supported by the green pencil-thin stalks. I sat on a nearby log for I know not how long and examined just one of the beauties closely. The bonnet-like head flared out and faint striations of Queen Mum lilac through to Everton blue culminated in an almost translucent shimmer where the light caught the rag curls. Those little turned up edges reminded me of rolled up chocolate decorations. The stamens being the clapper on the bell.
When my own Grandma passed away many years ago, my Grandad broke down at her funeral and cried out “Goodbye Bluebell, Goodbye Bluebell”. A stubborn, irascible, generous man – he must have loved her very much. The flower is said by some to symbolise everlasting love. I chose to believe that.
Grandad T and I love and miss you very much.