At The End Of The Walk

From my book Into the Dark 

AT THE END OF THE WALK

During the day walkers would park their weary bottoms, slug from water bottles, and then continue up on their journeys. Dogs would poke inquisitive noses into the bracken whilst their owners stopped to check their map. Couples would rendezvous, shyly kiss and travel on.

The bench stood in its copse. Its wood carrying memories of when it had been a tree. Sounds of the horn blowing through Its leaves as his lordship cantered after the stag. Ladies leaning against its trunk as their beau picked them wild flowers growing around its base. It remembered its pain as the sharp blade of the wood mans axe bit into its bark.

It sat, listening to the rustles of the wild animals. Feeling the wind flow over and around it. Hearing the birds chattering as they flew over it.

It sat and waited for you

Abbie
I'm here too

Abbie

Founder at 1stAngel Arts
I'm an oil painter and photographer, who also makes time to paint with words through my short stories and published poetry. Seascapes and animals are the primary focus of my oil paintings

I live in Manchester UK with 2 budgies, 2 Alsatians, and an artist boyfriend
Abbie
I'm here too

Abbie

I'm an oil painter and photographer, who also makes time to paint with words through my short stories and published poetry. Seascapes and animals are the primary focus of my oil paintings I live in Manchester UK with 2 budgies, 2 Alsatians, and an artist boyfriend

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