Just things

Today is Wednesday, early evening; I can hear the air-conditioning from the restaurant behind the back garden wall, and a bee that's just flown in the room. Both humming, but the air conditioning's slightly flat and the bee's note wavers as it flies.

The garden's blooming. It's spent the winter waiting and in the last few weeks it's gone beyond anything my uncertain skills could have produced; bypassed them and leapt ahead. Everything's blossoming. Flowers that should come out in June are opening; plants that I'd done mourning are showing shoots. It's a burst of colour; a flaunting of life. And somewhere in there is Harriet, making it work, being glad that this is continuing while she's gone. She's only a step away from her garden - if only that step was smaller and just across the world's breadth, instead of over unknowable dimensions of body and spirit. I miss her more than I thought possible; and she'll never be far away.