A Dream -- Saturday 17 October

I'm dancing with Grandma in her garden, her scent a whirlwind of fresh-cut grass and Earl Grey. We're stepping through summers past, each touch echoing memories like ripples on water. The Eiffel Tower grows from her lawn, its iron pieces swaying like leaves, rivets sparkling like dewdrops. It's a dance of balance, like walking a tightrope, yet we're always grounded, always in rhythm.