I was reading The Lost Language Of Cranes By David Leavitt with my feet in the sun which created a rectangle of gold on the new carpet framed by the little square living room window
Thursday, 1 October 2020
The cottage faces south and by 1pm the stone front has become quite warm after the autumn chill of last night.
I must of fallen asleep, just for a moment
But as my eyes opened and head jerked back slightly the room was suddenly filled with the scent of cold cream and talcum powder.
It was intense and almost overwhelming
and it was as if my grandmother has just bustled past,
Her big arms filled with laundry
Her face wide from smiling
A broad plain blue dress with short sleeves and a short apron
She’s been gone some thirty seven years now
And just occasionally
I do miss her so