Sometimes it seems that life lands so lightly on some people, and like an anvil on others. Today, a dear friend’s mum died. Both mother and daughter lived life to it seams, ripped through the seams. Polly died seven years ago, and part of me believes that the loss was just too much for her Mum to bare. What rich lives lived. I’d like to imagine a garden full of marigolds, where both women meet again.