Love apple.

I've been meaning to write a story. It's about two lovers who fall under a spell. At night, she goes to bed alone. Then, in the morning, she wakes to find him there - fast asleep in a shaft of sunlight. He looks so beautiful, she wishes she could wake him. She kisses his shoulder, he smiles a small smile, but doesn't open his eyes.

Later, he wakes alone, the bed still warm beside him, a hollow in the pillow. He can smell her skin, but she's gone. He arrives home late at night and there she is - fast asleep - her arms flung above her head...

Our lives are very much like that right now. We are both caught up in the world of commercials. It's soul destroying work. There are no layers of beauty, not much respect, but damn... the money's good.

In the garden, life burgeons. It swells, it explodes.
All it wants is water.

A hole, in the shape of you.

How do you comfort someone who has lost half of their sky? The love of their life was there one day and gone the next. There was no warning, no ache or pain.

Vincent van Gogh, 1882

Life goes on, people say. But when you are grieving, it's the world that goes on. Your own life grinds to a painful halt. Long after people have stopped offering help or comfort, you are still retreating behind a door to weep.

How can you tell them that even though time makes things easier, you will still be reminded of someone every day, that sometimes, even after years, the missing is just as bad.

You can remind them to eat. You can say: keep your body strong. Yes, eat root vegetables - they will keep you anchored.

You can say: crying is good for you.

You can say: take it a day at a time, or an hour even.

But you can read all of that on any old website.

Rest in Peace R.H.

Love is written about.

I woke up with this dream lingering in my head:

I was giving a big golden labrador a bath. We knew each other well, this dog and I. His eyes closed, a slight smile on his face, he leaned back into my hand as I brushed his furry head with soap and a soft scrubbing brush.

If it is true that you are all the people, or the animals, in your dreams… then I would like to think that I am allowing myself to slip into contentment. Believing that I am loved.

We spent the last blustery day of the summer break pottering in the garden. Digging, planting, drinking fresh mint tea. Laundry snapping on the line.

Back to work we go. The tender new plants will be watched in our absence, by the others.