Quote:
Originally Posted by hannah  The road is grey, local stone chippings and bleached by the fabulous summers. Manmade textures to protect the earth from heavy walking traffic. Just enough to cover and preserve the natural path but killing the beauty anyway This path is one our family friends and dog walked along many times laughing and enjoying the freedom.
The river is angry and hungry the bridge is slippery underfoot but my husbands words comfort me an |
I remember being so loved and cared for and protected he was a mrvelous husband and we were the envy of our friends. could it have been a sham?
the water is churning up debris and it is brown and muddy foaming white as it rages it smells of the earth and grass. I see this as his emotions now all mixed up and furious.
The large rocks stand upright and strong in the water you could try to get onto them if the bridge went they would provide an alternative route to the other side. How best to tackle life should I stay on the relatively safe bridge or start my own life unsure.
The house is brilliant white matt paint a small cozy cottage. small windows with no lights. it has strength local stones old and still maintained but not adorned or loved. I have always had an image of a holiday cottage very similar to this but it has the most important thing missing for me - a rambling tea rose tumbling on an arch. this was not there. I sometimes feel that my dreams of us are shattered but I still can have my dreams.
the bridge has a strong handrail but I am aware the whole thing could be washed away. It a short bridge and soon we are the other side listening to the sound of the angry water and cold spraying foam.