Dear Milena,
Today i write to you. You dwell in my thoughts so often, hardly a week goes by that i don’t see you with my mind’s eye, sliding through the crowds in Óbidos, sitting on a bench reading, walking away with flowing steps and braided grey hair.

Last night, in bed while my family slept, again you came to me. Came and sat by my side, your leg folded and a foot on the bench, talking about how you loved to rub rue on your boobs. And my thoughts wandered to the infused olive oils you once gave me, in small compal bottles with the most exquisite little crocheted hats in black and red and white, hanging with herbs and bells. Those small jars and their hats burned with the house, disapeared just like you have. But both live on in me, in my body and my memory.

Soon enough i’ll make some infused oils. As a reminder of the great honor of having met you!