Rosemary Sprigs

We have been in Cornwall for fourteen nights, and I have discovered an herb garden growing near the castle, gangly in its growth. Rosemary, which is meant to be a promise of faithful love and wisdom, is present amongst other friends. I sniff a couple sprigs of rosemary every time I visit—they lift me up. Today I placed the sprigs between two flat rocks so I can study them more easily when I embellish my lady’s pillows. Queen Isolde loves the freshness of the fields, and it would console her to have rosemary embroidered near her cheek. If she thought of Tristan in the night, her tears could roll down the green lines.

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