In Aigle

We walked slowly on a path that cut through a field of wheat. Each stem supported a heavy head that swayed like drunks in the gentle evening breeze. Poppy flowers, like discarded red confetti scattered across the plains fluttered in the wind. Though the overcast clouds hid what most likely would have been an amazing and colourful dusk, beautiful birdsong echoed against the grim yet majestic looking faces of mountains that soared all around us.

I had risen very early in the morning to run to the train station so I could catch an early flight to take me across half of Europe to Switzerland. Once in Switzerland, I hopped onto two trains and rode for another two hours to arrive at this secluded bed and breakfast at the foot of mountains close to Aigle.

What for? For moments and memories like walking through a field of wheat with mum just after a nice evening meal in a quaint little village. For the precious minutes and laughs we shared talking about this and that (mostly about how unbearable it can be living in brother's house...).