For Sonya’s Three Line Tales
The photo©Ben Rosett
It was a peaceful place of cool, dappled summer shade, a place for a lonely child to play quietly and think quiet thoughts.
She spent the afternoons swinging to the rhythm of a hummed tune, until at dusk they came to call her home.
She’d turn and smile a sad goodbye to the bandstand and the ranks of empty white chairs that she had built in her head from the rows and rows of white crosses that filled the military cemetery on the hill.