Returning

Due to a difficult year for me personally, I haven't been at my writing desk very much. So, the Winter Writing Sanctuary @BethKempton inspired me to start anew. A fictional piece for a change:

Photo by Dmytro Koplyk on Unsplash

She thought it interesting that she’d entered this world on a day when the wind howled and whipped through the trees, but she was leaving when there was hardly any wind at all. Today was poised and still, everything seemed to be waiting, holding its breath.

She could smell the damp earth, as the cool air hung about her shoulders. She walked slowly towards the edge of the field where gossamer wisps curled and rolled, enticing her to join their grey depths of quiet comfort and solitude. The wet grass, cold on her bare feet, soaked the edges of her favourite gown. She’d chosen it especially for the hue of smoke-grey which complimented her long ashen hair and the subdued landscape surrounding her.

As she walked, she traced the rough stone wall which divided the fields. The wall dripped with dew, as if weeping silently. The wet moss and lichen clung to the ancient stones which had been the backdrop to her life. She heard the icy waters of the nearby stream as she contemplated the life she’d lived. She’d achieved everything she’d come here to do. She’d lived a long life of purpose, and had helped people in their time of need; they had been grateful for her support. Mostly, she’d been happy here and she’d found lasting love which had given her the courage to carry on in harder times. But now they were gone. She’d outlived them all, just as she’d promised she would.

For the last time, she walked past the old oak and nodded to the magpie, sitting in his usual place in the stark branches, silhouetted against the steel skies of winter. He’d been a good protector, always there to remind her to be patient and gentle with herself. She’d taken heed, and nursed each loss when it came until she was strong enough to continue. The last one was the hardest, she’d loved her so much from the moment she opened her eyes as a newborn to the slow exhale of her last breath as an old woman. It had taken some time to regain her strength after this one, her only daughter. But now she was finally ready and it was her time to go.

She took one last look around, glanced at the old cottage where she’d seen all her love come and go. Then, she turned and disappeared into the mist, leaving no trace that she’d ever been here at all.