Fog dipped and curled on the fringes of the motorway, beading the grimy fleeces of wall-eyed sheep huddled beneath dry-stone boundaries.
Will shivered; he shared none of his father’s passion for the north of England.
‘I’ve become a real southern jessie now.’
“You were born in the shadow of the Pennines,” his father’s voice echoed down the years, “and that’s where you’ll die.”
A column of brake lights hurtled towards him like a Mexican wave, and as the radiator grill of a ten ton Scania filled his rear windscreen, Will wondered whether his father hadn’t nailed it… yet again.
We returned last night from one of our periodic visits to the north of England, and Rachel Bjerke’s photo, combined with my reflections crossing Saddleworth Moor on the M62 (the highest point of any motorway in England) provided the inspiration for this piece for Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who’s celebrating brilliant news this week, will be dancing her way through the submissions once more. Congratulations, Rochelle, attagirl!