Where he was prickly, plodding, pedantic, our daughter was mercurial, almost ethereal.
She rose each morning, her vitality unfurling to flit amongst the strands of other people’s lives, touching, inspiring, illuminating the darkest corners of their souls before sinking exhausted into repose within his bear-like arms each night.
By anyone’s norms, they were incompatible.
But who were we to judge?
Now that he’s gone, we see more clearly.
He fashioned her world, tethering her excesses, providing safe haven. He was her anchor, the Yin to her Yang, Abelard to her Heloise.
She lived for him.
And we cannot make her whole again.
In-laws, hey? Don’tcha just love ’em? 🙂 Inspired by the picture I’m paying tribute to our five-year-old orchid, whose swansong lasted the whole of last summer, peaking in November with 17 simultaneous, perfectly magnificent ivory blooms, but which is now staggering into oblivion with only one sorry, yellowing base leaf left. So long, mate. 😦
Friday Fictioneers is entering February, just seven more weeks before it’s officially spring. Thanks to Rochelle for her hard work, and congratulations to Claire Fuller whose second book, Swimming Lessons, was released last week. My copy arrived at the weekend, and Claire tells me that it’s set where I live, on the Isle of Purbeck in Dorset. Justification, if any were needed, to move it to the top of my reading list!