This morning at 11am on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the power of nature was at it's mightiest as the rain lashed down & the wind roared through the valley like an anguished dragon howling in pain. Watching the leaves funneling up in the air like mini- tornadoes engaged in an aerial dog-fight was an moving sight for the two minute silence; a beautiful metaphor for the youth, strength & bravery of all those who have given their lives for their country.
After a few minutes the wild grief subsided allowing the sun to peep from behind the clouds & call us into the garden. Along the path we found a young poppy, encouraged by the temperate autumn, her leaves still crumpled in the bud as she prepares to bloom - A hint of her beauty to come. We wonder if the chill of winter will cut her down in her prime? The red flowering corn poppy, 'Papaver rhoeas', symbolises eternal sleep & resurrection, a fitting tribute to our brave & fallen.
