This year, I missed those few short weeks that the florest floor turns blue and fragrant.

Even though it happened much later than normal (due to a very cold Spring), I was so busy in the last two months that I only caught glimpses of the bluebells from the windows of fast-moving cars.

But that didn’t stop me from thinking about them every day. All these photos are from last year’s walks along the FCP.

I will cherish the many warm memories of the last few weeks, but I’m also left with a deep sadness, for other reasons. Walks among the bluebells would have been a good way to process all the grief and guilt wrapped up in it all, and to perhaps figure out what to say, how to speak to, and of.

As it is, I just go around in circles, stuck and at a loss for words. I can’t fix it. It’s broken. I feel at a loss, or ultimately — I feel loss, a vacuum, an absence of old precious things, faded away.

But also relief.

The guilt is the hardest part. I failed, badly, and I have nothing to offer. Perhaps I should apologise, again, find some better way. But I can’t find the words, and I don’t really believe they would help anyway, or add anything or make a real difference. It feels like at this point they would only cause further hurt.

So I don’t say anything. I just write about it here, try to remember the good bits, and try to let it go. Something has ended.

Time for something new to begin.