She sat in the conservatory, her book had sunk into her lap, her hair moved gently in the rhythm of her breathing.
Through the open window, the fresh scent of evening-damp roses wafted in.
Her nostrils quivered as the roses softly intertwined with iris and cool jasmine.
The mild evening light softly highlighted the little lines on her cheeks.
And suddenly she was 14 again
standing trembling under the rain-soaked jasmine
and felt the entire promise of a cool spring night
and knew nothing of love
but everything of its scent....
