Wednesday, 24 January 2018
In and out of the garden by Sara Midda
I found the following write up on the Waterstones page and it sums it up well.
The most elegant and subtle of books to give and to have, this title evokes the English garden of Sara Midda's childhood, sowing the imagination with glorious images. Dozens and dozens of illustrations and tender reflections recall the hut in the wood or a topiary maze, a summer day spent podding peas, or a herb patch that yields biblical fragrances. Myriad colours fall upon warm green moss. Painted with Sara Midda's fine brush it is a book of lasting enchantment.
I took the book out yesterday to take a look. The first time since Mum's passing. I found the following piece amongst the pages, she had obviously written after my Father's death. Please forgive any mistakes, I could have changed things but felt that would not be appropriate.
Will I find you.
Slanted shadows stalk the garden, fine mist clings on the air,
Perfumes fill my nostrils, for summer once was there,
Now Autumn spreads its fingers, over plants and garden chair,
In those misty moments I see you walking there.
Little jewelled cobwebs are strung out along the path,
Descending sun a golden ball, empty now the birdie bath.
So still it is now Summers gone, a gap fore Winters call,
Seeds drop down noiselessly, will they flower where they fall?
When once again it's Springtime, youths pleasures on the air,
And will I find in memory guise, my love, you walking there.
My Father spent much of his retirement working in the garden. Mum always knew where to find him.
When he passed she would often say "Where's Jim, Cheryl. I can't find him"
I believe this poem was written during her last months.
I hope she found my Father, she always believed she would :)