Beginnings and endings

It's always lovely to see the rooks flying with beaks full of twig, and catch sight of them building their precarious-looking nests - a sign of new life. Spotted plenty of such activity on our drive to Exeter today. The perfect day for a drive in the sunshine, except that we were on our way to a funeral, that of my late father-in-law's youngest brother. Mr PP has many uncles and this one he didn't know well, so it was almost as representatives of those no longer here that we went along and increased the large family gathering by two. Even when one feels somewhat emotionally detached, funerals are sad occasions.

Years ago I remember crying at the funeral of a friend who'd died very young. The clergyman told me that people who cry at funerals are crying for themselves in realisation of their own mortality. Wrong! This added to the growing list of reasons to support my belief that, if God exists, then clergy are His stumbling blocks! (Apologies if you are 'of the cloth'; I'm sure they're not all tarred with the same brush.)

I raise a virtual glass to Mother Nature and new life. And rooks.