Another i.m. post. In memory of my friend Liz. I really miss her. I guess I’m at an age now when friends and family members, as well as myself, are getting older. Losing people starts to become more and more of a thing.
Liz loved flowers. She was more of a gardener than I’ll ever be. But the other day (after a very pleasant lunch with another friend) I couldn’t resist buying these cheerful marigolds. When I look at them, I’ll remember my friend, the brave and indomitable Liz, so full of life despite the debilitation of frequent ill health.
The day after Liz’s funeral I spotted at an arm’s length from me, in the branches of a tree outside the window above my writing desk, a tiny riorio; little grey warbler; in mid-warble. Liz was an amazing singer with a stunning contralto voice. An incident such as that fleeting visit from a tiny bird is not, I believe, without significance and deeper meaning. R.I.P. dear Liz.
11th Letter In 