#writephoto: Home

Well, I’m progressing with the WIP. The end is in sight. As usual, Sue’s photo slips nicely into the text. It’s more than a prompt, it’s a nudge in the right direction, a kick up the arse.

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Jon left it behind, the safe place that was no longer secret but was still a good place, and made his way through the forest that diminished with each step until it was no more than a copse. The wind had stripped the trees of their leaves and the branches were spindly, young and new-looking. It was cold. A film of frost blurred the outline of grass blades, and dead leaves crunched crisply beneath his tread. Birds whistled low, without much enthusiasm, but his heart pounded with a painful mixture of excitement, regret and a deep sadness.

At the top of the shallow valley, he looked over his shoulder at the grassy knoll that rose gently against the sky. He would always be able to find it, but would it always be the same, a gateway to somewhere else, somewhere impossible? He couldn’t bear the thought of losing so much. As he gazed longingly at the mound that might be only a hill like any other, the first golden light of the rising sun outlined it in fire. The fire spread to the low clouds, running scarlet and purple across the sky, and he hoped with all his heart that this dawn was not burning up the past.

He turned, hurrying then running, through the last of the scrubby trees, across the field empty of horses, and with a rush of emotion, through the gate at the bottom of the cottage garden. There was a light in the kitchen. He was home.

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Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.