From home, I walk the half-mile to the old Quarry, abandoned some five years ago now. I could drive, but it’s a nice walk, past the drooping lilac heads of the Budlea and the berry-full Raspberry bushes.
I arrive at the pond, formed from one of the old Quarry pits and unpack my rucksack. It’s torso day today – the limbs all went in last week.
I sip on a flask of tea and watch the weighted bag sink below the water. A Song Thrush sings nearby, a joyous melody.
Bit by bit, I’m getting her out of my life.
I arrive at the pond, formed from one of the old Quarry pits and unpack my rucksack. It’s torso day today – the limbs all went in last week.
I sip on a flask of tea and watch the weighted bag sink below the water. A Song Thrush sings nearby, a joyous melody.
Bit by bit, I’m getting her out of my life.
