Memorial

I went yesterday to the funeral of an old friend, from a long past life. I haven't seen or spoken to him for probably twenty five years, though I have stayed in touch with his family via FB.

We all knew each other in the days of Jen's early childhood, meeting when they brought their children in to the library where I worked, seeing each other regularly for a number of years, finding common ground and interests. Jen was the same age as their youngest, Jamie, and she adored his two older sisters.  We were good friends at a difficult time of my life but as often happens, our families drifted apart, each overburdened with the challenges life sometimes brings.

Seeing his lovely children grown with children of their own, hearing their moving tributes to their Dad, I was caught up in long ago memories of warm summer weekends; the children playing together somewhere in the evening air as Mon, Pete and I chatted about life, and how best to live it, or  wandered in the bee buzzy garden, examining small trees, bean rows and the grand compost heap. I gained so much from our friendship and am deeply grateful for it.

My love of slow trees is one legacy of those garden chats; Pete picking up one of his trees in mid October, and blowing vigorously so that a few more precarious leaves dropped, turning to me with his wonderful grin; "see, it's Autumn".

These trees were all planted or gathered from the wild then,

The beech not yet showing buds

guelder rose, hiding holm oak and birch

gnarled roots witness time's passage

delicate branches

This rowan was gathered from the wild back then. It lived as a slow tree for many years, and was finally grounded when we moved here. Left where it was, right at the edge of the footpath, it would have been trampled into the ground. It likes this sunny spot and gives the local birds flowers and berries as the sunlight flutters in its leaves.

Our ruminations also developed thoughts about mindfulness and how to live a meaningful life; about how children could be treated, cherished, nurtured in a kinder, less pressured world. There was a quote yesterday from Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk whose writings fostered my engagement with the philosophy. As life has become more physically painful for me, that philosophy has been so valuable. Another a legacy.

And today, this time of year, is ripe for reflections on loss and living; how often we don't recognise the preciousness of now, and the people who surround us; the wisdom of reflecting on the treasures life has already offered us; a point to pause and breathe and just be with what life is.

Thank you Pete, and Mon xx