The scent.
The scent of damp wood lingers in the air. Earthy. It smells like wood. Crisp.
A drop falls from a beech leaf onto my cheek. The last remnants of this morning’s rainstorm. Now the sun flashes through the leaf canopy.
A light breeze beckons me to the lake. But first finish the game of boccia behind the house.
The kitchen harvests beetroot from the garden. Will they end up on our plates later?
Maybe I’ll treat myself to a round of stargazing with a fine drink in my hand after dinner?
Our departure is planned for tomorrow.
An inner voice calls
„Stay. a little longer.“
