It was dark out. It would have been quiet if not for the occasional car passing by the road across the lake outside, and the small cricket complaining of his loneliness. Inside, by the window, sheltered from the dark, she was sitting on the coach reading in the little light the lamp beside her offered. The night had barely began, two pages into her book, her mind was wandering off to the fixations of her day. There were too much to think about, to worry for, to accomplish and the pages of her book were loosing the fight. She closed her eyes as I listened for any sound, the quite sound of a door closing perhaps. His fingers reached for mine.
The room is silent, no sound from the road, or the lake, or the cricket. The night has only begun.
No comments:
Post a Comment