Every week or so I take a little pot plant to Hamada’s grave to garnish in a small way the resting place of my beloved. I will continue this until his memorial stone is in place. We still have time to wait for that, as it is important that the ground settles and becomes flat once more. I have been thinking about appropriate words and style, what a decision this will be for me. I know my close family will help me with this when the time comes. Hamada was buried when the snow was deep on the ground and this winter was one of the harshest in living memory, so the ground until recently has been solid and unyielding. As Hamada is buried within walking distance of my home I can visit whenever I choose.  I always choose to pass by his grave on my walks. I bend and pat the ground where he lays and then as an elderly gentleman told me to do, look up at the sky for a moment or two.  This I have found is comforting to me as I listen to the noisy calls of the rooks, high up in their huge bowls of twiggy nests. The birds cannot spoil this high place of rest with it’s spring bulbs  and tranquil setting.

I think often as I walk, of the lovely words from “The Autumn of Love” by Khalil Gibran, which give me peace and today I leave here  for my friends just a small extract for your pleasure.

“The sorrow of love sings.

The sorrow of knowledge speaks.

The sorrow of desire whispers.

And the sorrow of poverty weeps.

But there exists a sorrow deeper

than love, more noble than knowledge,

stronger than desire, and more bitter

than poverty.

This sorrow has no voice, it is dumb,

but its eyes glitter like the stars.

Khalil Gibran – From Love Letters in the Sand.