My husband died* in October. One of the ways that I’ve been working through my grief has been spending time out walking: if you’ve been reading here for a while, you’ll know that I’m one for wandering, and for years I’ve found solace and comfort in the steps that start at my front door and take me across the paths and redways, around the lakes and parks, and through many of the Milton Keynes estates. Over the last strange weeks and months, I’ve been expanding my horizons. Compassionate leave from work has given me the time to extend these walks to places I’ve never explored before, the freedom to spend the cold hours seeing where the next path will take me before turning back home to see where life’s going to take me now, too.

In this frame of mind, it’s probably no surprise that my attention’s been caught by these mementos mori placed around the city. They’re beautiful, thought-provoking things to find. It feels like there are more of them now than there used to be, although that could just be that they seem more prominent to me now as I’ve been thinking so much about death, about loss, about remembering. Now, these arrangements, sometimes a poignant single bunch, sometimes a miniature shrine of bouquets, some with accompanying notes but more often anonymous, always make me stop in my tracks and pause with them for a while. The locations vary from secluded spots off the beaten track to highly trafficked walkways but I know that the spot must have been carefully chosen and hold some deep significance for whoever took the time to place their flowers there. They’re often a bright spot in the landscape, arresting in their appearance and calling for contemplation.