‘We did have a lovely time, didn’t we?’ Dorothy patted his hand, a faraway smile gracing her lips. ‘That man who took the photo of us on the beach, I do hope he sends it to us.’
Frank didn’t know what man she meant, nor what beach for that matter. How many beaches had they been to since they met? You lose count of things like that. ‘I’m sure he will,’ he said.
‘Could you fetch me a glass of water, dear? And my book? I left it on the kitchen table. From Snow to Snow.’
She was right. Both the title and where she’d left it. Frank was always pleased when she got things right. She was reading everything Frost had written, savouring the resonance of the words. ‘Here you are.’
He’d startled her – she jumped. ‘What do you want with me?’ Her eyes, lit from within, blazed with malice and dread. ‘Don’t come near! Get out!’
He wondered whether to give her the book in any case. It was a hardback with an olive-green cover. The cover had a pleasant feel, firm and grainy. He stood there, running his finger across it, a circular movement, several times, before taking it back to the kitchen.
Though I posted my own picture (Aberystweth beach), the story was actually inspired by this one on Theo’s photography blog (look around – it has lots of other of amazing pictures too). Although the picture is beautiful, the bleakness of that snowy road stretching into the distance made me think of the landscapes of the mind all too often inhabited in old age.
Pic’n’Post: blogging event open to all, any time. All that’s required is a picture and a text (not necessarily fiction). Round ups every fortnight. See the new, flexible rules here. Have fun!