Open arms

A memory triggered by the peppery smell of the rocket which I was picking today. Transported back to France and my uncle's garden. I am a small child running to catch up and take his hand as he collects various things to cook with for our meal. He offers me the rocket to taste and I am not altogether sure if I like it or not, I have never tasted it before. But I adore this man in front of me, so I smile and am rewarded with laughter as he gathers me up onto his shoulders. It was a fleeting memory and the more I tried to see the more faded it became, until I couldn't separate fact from what I wanted to remember. I was only about 13 when he died and was absolutely heart broken. I still think of him and his generously open arms and some days I would give almost anything to be swept up in them again.