Last week, one year ago, we scattered my mother’s ashes in a place which she loved. But those words don’t seem quite right. They make the action sound trivial, like throwing something away.

It was high up, the wind swirled and took the ashes, some touched us, and then there was silence. And I felt a release, a smile, and a travelling. The soughing of the wind again, never to be forgotten.

Yesterday, as I sat in St Mary le Strand, I remembered in the blue light, and then I lit two candles for my sister and me.