Sycamore Row*

“Wait a minute,” I say to Seb as we walk down my road this morning.  “I’d better take a photo of that tree for the blog now, in case the light changes or…”

“OK, my lovely,” Seb says, smiling at me.  

“Oh look – there’s a pigeon up there,” I say.  

“Hello pigeon,” Seb says.

“Is it a sycamore or a maple?” I say. “I can’t remember what the difference is and…”

“I’m not sure,” Seb says.  He’s looking so gorgeous today in jeans and one of his grey t-shirts.  He’s just showered so his hair falls in waves that graze his cheekbones.

“We used to have a beautiful sycamore tree at the parentals,” I say, as we continue walking.  “It was huge: we had a treehouse up there, and it was so beautiful, but it was so badly damaged in a storm it had to be cut down.  You would have loved it.  Wait a minute.”  

Stopping again, I take my coat off.  It’s warm and sunny and the sky is cloudless and blue.

“What a beautiful day,” Seb says, putting his arm round me.  “I’m so happy to be here.”

And as we make our way to a cafe for breakfast, holding hands, I think that nothing is that bad.  Have my Seb and that’s the important thing.   There’s a lot more treatment to get through but I’m not doing it on my own this time.

The sycamore (or maple) tree is in the attached photo.

Happy Sunday everyone!
*2013.  By John Grisham.  Legal thriller.

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