Blinded by the rare December sunlight sparkling on the lake we slipped into Hotel d’Angleterre for an afternoon treat. There were silk napkins and silver teapots and a single blue flower in a glass. There were towers of sandwiches and cakelets and creamy fluff. The sun rays danced around the tables as we sipped our steaming hot darjeeling from rosy bone china.

And I felt an overwhelming gratitude for being allowed to call this extraordinary person my friend, in a world never too big for an occasional cup of tea together on a Sunday.

(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)