As I set out from home the dawn was little more than a suggestion; a faint rub of gold against a sky bruised by night. My breath spooled around me in the cold air, and I burrowed my gloved hands deep into the pockets of my warm winter coat.
There was frost on the lane that crunched beneath my boots, glistening dust which had transformed the landscape, breathing new life into all those elements that were glanced at but never seen – the low stone wall with its pattern of moss, the puckered mouths of twisted tree trunks, and the silvery bars of the kissing gate that creaked a greeting as I passed. All the while there was the sea, an insistent whisper that spoke not only of the past, but…
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The Simple Things (Digital) - 1 Issue, February 2022