Saturday, September 11, 2010

Mrs B

Mrs B died in her garden the other day. She was eighty something. Her husband of nearly sixty years died a few weeks earlier and she seemed to have given up. It wasn't a surprise to learn she'd passed. Guess it was the best way for her to go - pottering in the garden, the place she loved, on a beautifully sunny September afternoon. It has a poetic quality. Take care Mrs B.

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