The handle feels heavier now, colder too, even though it was hewn from warm oak. An unexpected and long forgotten memory of the storm that felled the old tree swims before her eyes. Curious, she reflects, of what we think of in times such as these. Blankly gazing into the trees below, her hand rises and releases the metal blade and its accompanying handle into the river below. The storm rages about her. Emotionless, she turns and leaves the bridge behind.
Sue Clayton
26/2/2022 02:40:55 am
All trees should be spared the feel of metal. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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