Packing and Goodbye to a friend.
Autumn and English poetry. Image courtesy of trvst.
There is a scent of nostalgia floating from the garden through my window this morning. It rained last night and I can smell the sooty, sticky smell of fading leaves. It is all about Leaves at this time, when Autumn comes.
Green to jewels and one can simply never overemphasise the transient beauty of leaves ready to die. A last annual performance, a job well done. Magnificent robes in their final bows.
Swan song on the Serpentine.
It has been a week of letting go. Too soon, another friend has fallen in my woodland. A memorial service for yet another who would have wanted to do a whole lot more - could fathom the darkness and yet did not go gentle to it. When we lose a close one in this Silver time, our own mortality comes a little too close.
This I swear is the three hundredth plus time I promise to try harder, be better, get healthier. However, I swear my commitment to wine has far outlived the men in my life’s commitment to me, and I do need something reliable to fall back on don’t you think?
We shall miss you dear Eric. Know that our childhood bonds will support your family in our own way.
As I could not be at the memorial service, to Hyde Park I went, to walk in Nature and somehow closer to find a stillness in my heart. Life happens; dog walkers with poop bags and practical boots. Tourists taking photographs of Kensington Palace, Queen Victoria and squirrels. Au pairs, policemen, joggers and me with the weak sun but fresh morning. Life is still good I think - life is hurting when our loved ones die but Thank God we got to love them and tuck them close.
Bacchus. I adore him because he is older than me.
My last Garden History Tour at Ham House this year. The tours end this month. Bacchus will get wrapped up, with Father Thames in the Forecourt for the winter and I will meet them again in the Spring. Our lavender is so button cute, bobbles that took quite some time to clip but looks really cool on the National Trust Calendar covered in snow - will there be snow at Christmastime I wonder?
Last time walking the walk past Petersham, the little church and the graves that tell me stories. Dodging puddles beside the Nursery, down the teeny secret lane. Mud stepping from the flooding of the river, past the horses that make me nervous (big sturdy chaps) and over the wooden bridge to the house. Last time this and last time that.
Just as the Autumn hails the end of a busy time, I am packing my bags for the sun. Things are beginning to slow down and I need to see if my house is still standing amongst the wineland’s of the Cape. Packing up has become a second habit over the years, living the gypsy life I do. Leaving the right amount of things here in London, and there.
Cafe Diana in Notting Hill
Walk by here most days. It’s real, some of us will never just move on.
The Christmas presents are wrapped for those I will not see on the day. Drinking in the decorations - can always depend on John Lewis for a little excitement but not sure what happened to the famous Christmas adverts on the telly. Quality Street has gone eco with non-shiny patterned sweet wrapping and I yawned at the new offering. Sorry, we need glistening, shining, sparkling at Christmas or I will feel as sad as the ageing tinsel from my childhood.
Maybe one day I will be able to afford the Fortnum and Mason Hamper and Christmas decorations.
Feeling quite Christmassy but I will hold myself in check - it is only October.
The world is one lovely person less this week. I will toast a glass to him when the packing is done.
You were the sweetest, kindest and most gentle soul. RIP Eric xxx