If it wasn't for your photograph in my wallet, I would be tempted to believe that you were just a figment of my imagination. But there you are, next to a lemon tree in blossom, your curls caught in their little act of rebellion against the confines of a red hair-band.
There's a lot that has happened since then. You moved on from breezy summer dresses to the claustrophobia of marriage and eventually to the imprisonments of motherhood. Your carefree laughter giving way to a genial smile of someone who has seen too much in too little a time.
another day . . .
the clasp of the rings