I sat in my garden, resting on my feet, knees bent, to ponder effective combinations of herbs. What better place than amidst a patch of lavender? There were no sweeter scent and color to savour. A gentle spring coursed in me–a goodly theme–and I felt it in my elbows.
“What are ye doing, Brangien? Did ye eat raw savoury?” Isolde said to me, standing to one side.
Savoury was said to be an ingredient for a happy mind.
“Nay, Isolde. I feel content in my silent loquaciousness. Maybe the rumor was true. I am not related to ye. I came from some thoughtful soul and was sold by pirates to your mother.”
Isolde shook her head, laughed and joined me, squatting in the garden.
“Let me see why ye like doing this,” she said, then became quiet.
And we both sat still and hushed, breathing the lavender air and feeling the warm sun on our heads.