Sunflower and leaves behind the ear

The sunflowers along the lane finally turned while you were in Lisbon, and Mr Oakes has given up trying to keep the wasps out of the windfalls. I walked the rows this morning with the dog, and every head had swung round to face the east wall of the orchard, as if it were waiting for the Ashworth boy to bring the tractor back. You always said they follow the sun. I thought that was a fairy story until I watched them do it for forty years.

The seed packet your mother kept in the biscuit tin is nearly empty now. I sowed the last of it behind the shed, where the tallest one grew the year you were born, and I found the stake we painted blue. It has snapped at the base, so I have tied the new stem to the old wooden post with garden twine. The heads are heavy with seed and the leaves have gone the colour of old pennies. Mr Oakes says a flower this size can feed a family of goldfinches all winter if you leave it standing, so I have left it standing.

The estate agent came on Tuesday and stood in the kitchen looking out at the window you used to climb through on your way to the cider barn. I told him the house was not for sale. He wrote something in his notebook anyway. Come home before the frost takes the last of the petals, love, and bring that friend of yours who thinks sunflowers are only for summer. I want to show her the one that turned round for you.

Yours, Nan