When I am sad I sow. This seed, though, is saturated in memory. Henriette’s mum, Ina, has died. Peacefully, in her sleep, a few weeks past her birthday. I plant her window box (sorry, I’m not yet quite ready for past tense). I sow calendula – of course – in her pots. We always buy her flowers, posh English tea and biscuits. This time, though, we walk past the pretty tins to check-in.
Denmark is bathed in sun by the sea. My daughters Kala and Radha have come to offer Henri support. To help pack away Ina’s long life. To sort through her house and memories.
