The year is turning and the shadows creep up the wall.
These saplings pattern a chapel in the forest nearby. This chapel is all that remains of a village that was never rebuilt after plague and invasion wiped out the inhabitants. A local history buff has carved its named on a picnic bench, where hikers might pause for a moment to wonder who lived here as they chomp down their energy bars amongst the quiet of the trees.
Only the name and shadows remain.
Advertisements
What a good, short story, post. xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
something about the time of year! x
LikeLiked by 1 person
beautiful-from the title to the last word!
LikeLike
you are very kind!
LikeLike