Such a beautiful summer…
I couldn’t believe it was true; he was total perfection and, incredibly, wanted to be with me.
That day, we’d slithered down stone-flecked hillsides greased with September rains to seek shelter in the ramshackle building. The dusty air crackled with the tension between us as we lay side by side.
Afterwards he told me it couldn’t happen again; it felt wrong, I was too young.
The wheel creaked rhythmically as the stream rushed beneath the mill, and his neck cracked loudly, when his head became trapped in the spokes.
Everything changed that day.
After a hectic month or so, we’re now settling into the rural Dorset retreat that will be our home for the next six months. We’ve had deer staring in the windows, woodpeckers, bluetits, finches and squirrels feeding and bathing in our garden, whilst the geese, hens and horses from the neighbouring smallholding offer continuous rustic background music.
How easy will it be to write here, I wonder? I won’t find out this week, as I’m offering a 2012 re-tread for Friday Fictioneers, but blame that on the unpacked boxes still requiring attention. Rochelle’s busy too, with a publishing deadline looming – keep that head down, Rochelle. 🙂 I’m sure you’re cooking up a masterpiece there.