By Rebecca Goldthorpe
His path followed a towering hawthorn hedge, speckled with plump, creamy buds.
Unexpectedly, the open pasture came to an abrupt full stop. A gate blocked his way, dissecting meadowland one side from the grassy bank behind him.
Patrick retrieved his Father’s letter and a tattered map from the rucksack, spreading them flat on the grass.
It looked different. He’d doubted his memory briefly, but there it was.
It was his tenth birthday, the day they saw lightning strike the great oak tree.
Now, fifty years later he was reaching into that same splintered tree, for a gift from beyond the grave.
Love this!
Thanks so much DeRicki. Really pleased you like this. 🙂
I want to know more 🙂 !!! What was the gift. Like it !!! X
Thanks so much Dörte. Pleased you like it. Thank you for commenting. I guess that will be in the next story ???? x
The story opens with such a voluptuous description. Beautifully done!