Foam Flowers

Saturday morning as I drove back from the field service the tide was so high and the Channel so stormy that foam flowers were blowing across my windscreen like Autumn blossom. It was a beautiful morning, with scudding clouds, high seas and wild winds.   It was sunny and the wind was warm, but it changed into full storm mode in the afternoon and I got soaked doing the shopping for me and Jacks.  And Captain Butterfly actually came back early from his Metal Detectorising.

Him, entering, sternly and urgently:   "Don't tell me what the results of the Match are!"
Me:    "Whar match?"
Him:  "The RUGBY of course!   England v NZ."

Against the odds it turned out that England had won.  So Captain B was a happy butterfly. Things have moved on since then and I believe England now plays South Africa.   I only hope he will enjoy the game, whichever way it goes.

Because of the torrential storm on Saturday the fireworks and the procession had to be cancelled. The bonfire had already been cancelled, due to lack of volunteers to build, tend and guard it.  The whole event (minus said bonfire) has now been moved to tonight.

Jackie cancelled on Sunday night too - she was coming round for supper - but  was not well enough. We are all getting older and older and closer to that edge,damaged children of Adam that we are.    How would I be feeling about this if I did not know what the Bible says about death?

Wouldn't I be wondering sadly what the point of it all is?

And the fragile foam flowers reminded me of Swinburne's poem "The Forsaken Garden".  Its a long time favourite of mine, and when I read it I always think of my young parents in the year before their marriage, an engaged couple, very much in love, visiting Cornwall, where my granny used to have a house.

So I imagine this forsaken garden to be in Cornwall - which was a wild and remote place back then.

               Heart handfast in heart as they stood, "Look thither,"

       Did he whisper? "look forth from the flowers to the sea;

              For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither,

       And men that love lightly may die—but we?"

  The foam flowers are still here, but my parents are not.