Winter

– The leaves had grown silver filigree hairs of frost

– The grass had turned grey overnight as if it had been the victim of contact with a ghostly apparition

– He walked leaving oxidized footsteps through the silver grass

– The silver sun hung like a huge mirror on the horizon, the trees skeletal against its surface

– The moon was so full and bright it was as if the garden was illumintated by halogen lights

Autumn

– The leaves on the trees caught the late sun, hanging low in the sky, and turned them to burnished copper lustreware

– The tree canopy was a mixture of ochres, yellows, golds and burnt sienna

– The auburn and golden leaves drifted to the ground like confetti

– The trees shone with autumnal colours and the sky was dotted with the pink-blue clouds of sunset

– It was like a scene from a Rubens’ painting with the leaves like brushstrokes against the sky

Summer

– The summer sun fell like torch beams though the dark branches and onto the taupe path. The light and shadows were like interconnecting tiles on the woodland floor

– Dawn broke like maple syrup being poured over blueberries

– Birds flitted outside the window like thrown gloves

Spring

– Snowdrops, their heads drooping like a group of Carmelite monks, lined the path

– The rippling waves were like chain-stitch across a flat grey cloth

– The tubs were bursting with flowers

Jerreck wished to be worthy of his father’s love which was not freely given, but blinding in its focus and generosity.

Losing ones own child is like having a scab that you keep picking at mentally. You know you should leave it alone to heal, but it is impossible and it never will.

“She could have been sanctified when she died. After all she was responsible for a number of unexplained cures to terrible sicknesses. \whenever she rang up and offered to come and nurse the sick, people felt instantly better. It was a miracle!”

“She enjoyed ill health for years!” The quote is unattributed if is it by someone else.