A glass of brandy and a sandwich
I remember the smell of the rain. I remember the late August, the time when Bakewell bloomed. I remember sitting on the windowsill in the library in our house with a slightly open window seeing a garden full of greens being refreshed as if Eden grew anew and small birds singing swiftly. I remember and want to remember for eternity yet curse the moment I picked up a worn-down book about the adventures of Sherlock Holmes.