Create a garden of love

In Italy Mothers day is on the second Sunday in May. In Britain it is in March. I happened to be in Britain near Mothers day this year and wanted to take the opportunity to plant some spring flowers round my parent's grave. It is in a lovely tranquil village with a view that looks like it hasn't changed for hundreds of years.Woods and fields in the distance. So off we went to the local garden centre, with a friend who is not only a gardener but loved my mum and dad very much. I used to take my mum to this garden centre for a cup of tea and to watch the children play. The garden centre had big signs up offering cream teas and all day breakfasts. even though it was only early morning the cream tea tempted us. Next the search for the right flowers. My brother had told us not to make it look like a garden, flowers must look like they have grown there naturally. So no garden gnomes and orderly lines of marigolds. we chose primroses, cowslips, heather and then I couldn't resist the flower of the month. I had never seen it before and it had a long Latin name but I can't resist the offers of the month, be it wine or asparagus , even though my son would probably tell me they couldn't sell it any other way. When we had got all our flowers on the cart we had to walk through the shop. First of all there was a Pet's corner, little rabbits and guinea pigs to be cuddled, then a play area and then a huge emporium, the sort that sells loads of stuff that looks really pretty and inviting but you don't actually need any of it. Luckily my husband had had enough and we had to hurry to catch up with him. My Mum would have loved all that.
It was such a lovely sunny day and we arrived at the churchyard with all the flowers and trowels and spades along with lots of other people all doing the same thing. Quietly and discretely planting and tidying up. When I went to get the water there was a whole queue of us and we started to chat and swap information. Someone had been to school with one of my aunts, another remembered my dad in the playground throwing ink pellets at the girls.
 If my dad had been there he would have been prodding me in the back and saying, "come on Angie,

get on with your knitting, cut the cackle, you''ve  got lots to do, children to feed, work to be done." When we had finished it looked very pretty, just right, natural and casual but brightening up the place.
As we moved away in my heart I heard, we loved you very, very much, we missed you so much, you were a great daughter. But do cut the cackle...
Here is a lovely poem that tells us about the healing power of gardening and nature.

 Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

All my hurts
My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk,
A quest of river grapes, a mocking thrush,
A wild rose, a rock-loving columbine,
Salve my worst wounds.