End of the afternoon

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When the procession of cars had left, I took a few moments alone by the graveside.  As a way to focus on the moment, I drew these lines in a pocket book and later added crayon.  I should have drawn fewer lines: it would have worked better, meant more.

My mother lies in that earth, in a coffin of woven banana leaves, covered by flowers taken from our gardens, lowered there by us who then scattered soil and petals and rosemary.  She will have a plaque flush with the ground and within a season her resting place will be overgrown by tall grasses and wild meadow flowers.  She chose to be buried at the top of a slope, so she might have a view.

In all the years, I  have only drawn her twice.  The sketch below was sometime this year and, inevitably, at a pub meal.

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Preparing for the funeral, we unearthed dozens of old photographs.  Over the coming months I hope to re-imagine family from old images, not as copies but as new art, as remembrance.   I would welcome links to your pages if you have done this too.