Monday, 6 April 2009

Shining light.

It was the last of the April crisp days when we met on the heath. The northern places seemed to stay barren longer than other places, and the twigs on the trees reached like fingers for my skirts in the darkling day. I saw her coming over the dried mud and yellowed grass before she saw me. She hacked her way through the bushes and waved at me. I extended an arm to wave back. She was wearing wellingtons and a long white dress, and a red cardigan. The dress was as white as her skin, an extension of her flapping limbs. She looked like a child playing, though she was too old for that really.

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