The poplars at the crematorium

At the end of the film American Beauty - which is a good film, although there are reasons for disapproving of it, a character who is dying has a whirling flashback over his past life, with the sound images as powerful as the visual. If it was me, I’m sure the sight of poplars, and especially the sound of the wind through the leaves, would feature. There was a row outside my bedroom window when I was a child.
My thoughts are probably running on these lines as we have just arrived at the crematorium in Watford, for my lovely cousin’s funeral. My son has come by train from Plymouth to Bristol, his train diverted and delayed by nearly an hour. Then I did battle with the M4, M25, A41 etc etc, with various holdups and roadworks. And now, magically, we have arrived, and in plenty of time, as we allowed 3 hours for things to go wrong, and only needed 2.
The service was perfect, reflecting her beautifully, with music words and photos. And afterwards L and I enjoyed being inside the love of this big family, my mum’s side, who are all good and kind people in different ways.