I promised him everything; it wasn't enough. Fifty years of saving, collecting, consuming without practical purpose, wasted. There at the end of all things, as my tongue withered and eyes crisped, the devil wouldn't even sell me some water. Maybe that was my torment? Maybe he just wanted a laugh?
We always said we'd be there to catch each other. You do when you're young and in love. We were so convinced, so sure of our commitment that when we fell, it came as a genuine shock. Well, maybe less so for me. I had my hands behind my back.
Hurt my back burying the wife.
Author's Note: Something a little different today that got me thinking.
Whilst hitching a ride to the coffee shop with my wife, we turned into the shopping park where it's located and saw something highly unusual. I always keep an eye out for wildlife, I love nature, and spotted a bird I'd never before seen in real life, yet recognised instantly. The fellow in question was a beautiful Little Egret.
I said what I'd seen and we slowed down to view it. I'll come back to why I couldn't take a photo of my own in a minute. In the meantime, here is an image courtesy of Wikipedia.
These birds are becoming more common in England, but rarely as far north as Yorkshire.
Now here's the thing. We didn't want to scare it away, so went for our drink. My wife left first, and me later for my run. But I had to see the Little Egret again. So, I jogged back to where I'd spotted it, phone in hand, but the little bird had gone. I was disappointed.
So where did I see this rare beauty you shout? A drainage ditch my reply. And although I didn't think much about it at the time, on reflection I think it's ironic that one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen, gleaming in the dawn light in all its snow-white splendour, was in a shopping park drainage system. It just doesn't seem right, or maybe that's just me.
Thanks for reading
When I can't sleep, I like to fly. That's right, I said fly. I stretch my legs, sticking my toes out from under the duvet, reach out my arms like wings, and pretend to be a plane. My wife's my co-pilot. She provides the engine noises. Every single night!
She was a dream within a dream within a dream, a perfect moment tied up in a red silk bow. Her cinnamon skin captured the sunset and promised the stars, her lips the pouting tide, her eyes eternity. She was the closest thing to heaven I’d ever seen or ever wanted. Caramel, I called her, so sweet as to tantalise, so delectable, so smooth. She melted in my hands like chocolate by the fire, but when we married she turned into fudge. Hey-ho!
It fell as a jaundiced cloud. An almost solid mush of marshmallow puce, the smog, fog or whatever it was heaved for five days enveloping the land. When it lifted, the sun beaming golden rays, I swore I'd never take yellow for granted again. The next day, it rained. Typical!