HOW MUCH THEY’RE STILL LOVED

by Catherine Smith (Oxford)

You’re granted admission by a smiling man. Step through the gate from the quad. Slow down. A perfect, tranquil day in this small graveyard; the dead in their tombs, tucked in under warm earth and the path underfoot. Moss in the cracks.

A curly-haired child roars her delight - I‘ve found the daisies! - sings to the living and the dead. A father tucks his baby under one arm, walks across grass. In the high, trembling branches, small birds sing their hearts out. Listen to us, listen to us, listen to us.

Primroses in the grass and a Rentokil box by the path. Shadows and sunlight; silence and noise. From over the wall, a crane looms, earth is gouged, machinery grinds on; men shout to each other. The city’s in a rush, trying to outrun itself. A clock strikes 3.

And at the shadowy edge of the garden planted for Avery Wolcott Broadbent, benches for Katie Ashbridge, 25, and Rorie Duncan, 30. Do they all know how much they’re still loved? In the Spring breeze, daffodils sway and nod - yes, yes, yes.

What Catherine Smith says about HOW MUCH THEY’RE STILL LOVED: