Movements round a carousel.
Slowly they quicken with the taste of summer.
The blurred streaks of people.
Making new colours.
Even the reverberations of sounds I hear again in that other place.
Walking up stairs.
Leading to the warm folds of a white blanket.
I rearrange the flowers that are sewn into the fabric.
The wafting scent of them emerges.
Engulfing me.
Opening my eyes.
Did a fragrance do that?
Or was it the sights and sounds of summertime,
Laying on the white blanket?
