I don’t remember where we were, what she was reading. it’s mostly watercolors with too much water, running, staining into one another. Her shoes were red, I think.

I remember the tea, citrus and mint, the smell went well with her eyes, looking over those trendy glasses in playful annoyance. She would have looked good as a grandmother, I thought.

We sat out in the woods for I don’t know how long, wrapped in a blanket of tea and emotion and stars.

Nowadays though, the thought of her brings me sorrow.

Memories are funny things.