Saturday, 14 June 2008


I sat beside towering delphiniums as they flirted with the breeze, lost count of the apples slowly brightening in the orchard, walked the full circuit of the majestic vegetable plot and gazed out across endless swaying meadows of tall grasses towards distant hills on a perfect English Summer's afternoon.

I stood in your bedroom in a flood of blackbird song that ran in from the garden, wondered what it would be like to wake full of dreams in such a room. Ached to go inside the sealed world of your garden studio, look at what was on your desk and sit in a corner there, imagining you sitting up late, wrapped in a blanket to write in the flicker-eyed glow of candlelight.

But ensnaring my thoughts, was your last walk to the dark snaking river.