We watched as she unwrapped him, one layer at a time, pausing to caress, assess, sometimes rationalise before moving steadfastly to the next layer.
There was a doggedness about her, transitioning slowly from an unwillingness to accept each revelation, through a resolve to overlook, and often culminating in self-recriminations.
She took longer than we had. At times we thought she may never get here. It was like watching our lives in slow motion.
Her destination was inevitable.
We made space for her; she duly arrived.
We commiserated, embraced, relaxed, and anticipated the next.
We’d not have long to wait.
This week’s picture is the remains of two straggly pine trees which used to overhang our house. Every season of the year brought new deposits of one kind or another, needles, fluff, cones, twigs. Neither of us like cutting down trees, but when the roots began to raise the paving stones on the terrace, heading for the garage, we had to bite the bullet. Watching its slow decay as it makes a home for all kinds of insect and fungal life has been sad but fascinating. Thanks to Rochelle for choosing the pic, and for leading the Friday Fictioneers.