September 29 2022
I am woken by rain thundering down on the house. I groan at the thought of getting up. But get up I must. The point is, to make the effort, to haul myself out of bed. I need to stick to my ritual. I fear I am going to get absolutely soaked, but after a bit of a panicked search, I manage to find an umbrella.
I pick up the posy I made the evening before. I’d gone around the garden, picking flowers for Felix. Many of the things I sowed or planted earlier in the year are finally flowering, and it gives me huge pleasure to pick them for him. There are orange dahlias, yellow and orange calendulas, purple hydrangea flowers, almost spherical, as well as sage and rosemary from Alex’s herb garden.
When I get to the Green Hill it is pouring with rain and the sky is thick with cloud. The sun is nowhere to be seen. I can usually tell where it will burst up over the horizon, but today there is a uniform blanket of grey. I stand under my umbrella, looking out over the river which is swathed in mist and listening to the raindrops hitting my brolly.
Then, a few minutes later, things start to change. The clouds start moving to the side, and, imperceptibly, a gap opens up above the river, where the sky starts to turn blue and the sun begins to show. It breaks over the top of some low clouds, edging them with shimmering light and flooding the burial ground with a warm radiance.
The Green Hill 