PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
I wander into town, into a breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and cafe noisette from the chalets along the river.
I inhale until my head swims, open my eyes and see the brightly coloured tiles, the pattern like a jumper I gave you one Christmas.
And you’re there, slipping it over your head and I’m laughing at how small it is on you, how long the arms are. And I can smell conifer and taste brandy, thick on my tongue.
And you, I taste you.
I stop and watch ripples spread over the water.