I cannot take thee as my lawfully wedded wife until death do us part

MONTH by month, she took the photographs. In the early months, as she took the pictures, she would cry. Cry because of the infinitely lonely plaint of a wood pigeon in the trees.

Cry because the robin would hop around the water feature in the way that had always made her mother laugh. But, despite the tears, she kept taking the photographs, all on her own in a suburban back garden.

At the end of 12 months, she selected the best of the pictures, starting with one of icicles hanging from the branches of a bush. That one, she decided, was perfect for the January page of the calendar she was creating.