12 January 2018
“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”
The author of Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie, wrote or possibly said that. It verges on the soppy, but has a comforting truth in it. Yes: when the weather closes in and a post-Christmas slump sets in at 4:00 p.m. with the drawing of the curtains, then is the time to think of roses.
I look out at my little terrace and note that the fat-balls in the bird feeder need replenishing, and that the bally squirrel has dug up the bulbs again. The garden table is badly stained and one or two pots have cracked in the frost.
If BH wasn’t watching the telly, he was looking out into the garden. It’s very odd to speak of him in the past when I can still almost smell his hair…
Oh yes, I have my December roses; all shapes, colours, leaves, and even thorns — and a scent to drown one in memories.