Through the last weeks I have witnessed a gradual resurrection during a 'stop-start' Spring. Here at the woodland burial ground where I come not because my love is here in precious ashes under a new oak tree, but because I share with her in the slow changing beauty of nature's resurrection, a carpet of bluebells under the trees has lasted long. Across a bank of new lush grass supporting bedraggled remnants of daffodils - their beauty safely locked away for another year - the rowan trees are struggling into their creamy-white new dresses encouraged by senior stately yews - mature with many years still to come. Young copper beech with full lives ahead, spread their arms in shady blessing over many silent graves. New life unites with old and codes of being in every decaying leaf are handed on to be renewed in barely recognised forms of beauty. Crows and magpies startle tits and blackbirds among tender chestnut leaves - busy birds even now creating another generation. There is no death here! - Only life's creative, renewing, eternal love. Only God in cross and resurrection!.