On the too cold plane there is a woman wrapped in rose coloured Sardinian carpet.
I think about the things we bring and the things we leave behind.
The two delicate bottles of limoncello, lemon liquour, one with cream and one without, wrapped in a sarong the colour of a butterfly's wing.
The miele di millefiori, Sardinian gold, thousand flowered honey, still sitting on a shelf that we didn't buy this time and that will have to wait until Christmas.
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