The Lighthouse

the lighthouse

17 May 2011


Flames shimmered and popped in the grate, the only lumination, and that not strong enough to overpower dark shadows in the corners of the room.

In the meager light and warmth of the fire sat a woman, shawl draped over her shoulders, fretting with the fringe on her lap.  Fingers and frown betrayed the restlessness of her thoughts,and surely had rain not been throwing itself at the windows, she would have allowed her body release from its own restlessness on the fields beyond the front door. But darkness and cold kept her here, in front of the fire; alone the house, alone in all the world.

No comments:

Post a Comment