The sequel to Sonya’s Three Line Tale.
Photo ©Kirsty TG
The road was empty again; the silent horseman a memory of dark mist and the gentle waving of tree branches.
With trembling finger I traced the familiar handwriting before easing open the envelope and unfolding the sheaf of close-written pages.
By the light of the moon, through a blur of tears, I read some of the lifetime of words of tenderness he would have told me, he said, had he not drowned so far away, when our dream was still a fledgling that would never spread its wings and fly.