My parents, Bibi and John, almost swallowed by the foliage on the larger of two bridges over the pond in Claude Monet's fabulous garden. A bridge depicted in so many paintings, paintings of which my parents were, who isn't?, very fond. All those water lilies, colors, reflections, light. All the dreamy, nameless, but very specific, sensations available in that garden, that Monet has planted in so many imaginations, forever. And there they were, on their last voyage together in France, in August 2000.
They've both left this garden, in two different Augusts, since then, but their ashes are side by side at home in Malibu, and if there's any justice for lovers, their spirits are still side by side, in a garden, filled with light, to which we'll all return
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