PHOTO PROMPT submitted by Courtney Wright. © Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.
There was a dent in the hedgerow, a patch where the hawthorn had died. Enough space for Hetty to sit, knees drawn up against the wind, patched boots out of the wet.
Such a day for wind. Sharp as a knife, cold as the stolen glances she’d had from the Goodwives in the last village – worn to the bone baggages the lot, pinched tight as the buns on their heads. Pity the husbands.
A first snowflake fell. Soon a layer of downy white drifted in the trackways, softening the hard edges of wall and gatepost.
Sleep. Just for a while …