An elderly lady approached me on the busy London street. Her arm outstretched, a small posy of heather, tied with a thin lilac ribbon, in her hand.

I was her target and she wasn’t going to miss it. It made me smile. Sure, I’d buy it from her, quietly hoping she wouldn’t insist on fleecing me.

She was under five feet tall, and her navy woollen coat swamped her. He blue felt hat limp from the rain. She looked up under the rim and our eyes met. Hers watery and blue, but they sparkled still.

I asked her name, and she told me Roma, I introduced myself. The footfall was heavy that day, it could have been a Monday morning, but just for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the street.

I have no recollection of what we spoke about.But I do recall vividly being in her presence for a few minutes that day, so many years ago.

Edit… The moment I published this, I did remember one thing she said to me…and that  was I would write about her one day …whoa!