Elderflower Cordial

By Danielle Marie Cahill

The sun warmed our backs, glittering over the ripples of the canal as we walked along. I carried the wicker basket, and you had the scissors.

‘There!’ I called, pointing at the delicate sprays of white flowers.

I held the stems, as you snipped. Your hand brushed mine. When I saw the look in your eye, I put my basket down.

I lifted my hand to your face, the roughness of your stubble catching under my fingers.

We tumbled onto the grass. The powder from the elderflower rained down, as we kissed in the radiant summer afternoon.

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Danielle Marie Cahill writes from leafy North London, where she lives with her family. She holds a degree in English from the University of Cambridge, and in 2024 she won The Caledonia Novel Award. Her credits include Bangle, Witches, Witchology, Livina Press, Suburban Witchcraft, Underbelly Press, Quarter Press, and MoonLit Getaway magazines.

Twitter: @dannihoo Instagram: @daniellecahillwriter