Even if you cannot hear my voice...

My Love of Blip is coloured by memories of Molly.

We stumbled over each other over a glimpse of my cats and I fell for the views from her windows. Whilst Molly's pictures were always glorious, it was her words I appreciated most, and her critique of mine. To have a professional writer comment on your writing is a most pleasing experience.

It's very strange that a missing comment can mean so much.

I miss her gentle chiding of me when the stresses of motherhood, work and life were getting me down; I miss her stories of life in the Tuscan hillsides. I miss seeing her words every day, and hearing how the Olive crop is growing.

I know though that the Olive crop and the veggies are doing just grand. I know that life in the Tuscan hillside carries on, and Himself gets on with life surrounded by memories of Molly in the house and the hills, and is cheered by the celebration of everything that was and is Molly and the world-wide love she generated.


For the record: The day came in clear and cold, and has now lapsed into wet and grey, but in our hearts, the sun is shining.