Perfectly ordinary miracles

Today was the last funeral service for Meg, my grandmother - we'd already had one, but since a lot of her friends hadn't been able to attend, we decided to make an occasion of it when we went to scatter her ashes. We went out to Springwood, near West Bergholt - my grandparents founded a naturist camp there in 1953, and all their children were brought up going there, in three acres of old, dense woods. My sister and I went there in turn, and eventually when my mother died in 1997, we scattered her ashes in those same woods, and planted a rose tree for her.

I went over to look at it, as one does, and - well, I'll let this picture speak for itself.