Two crows down by the river.
An old beat up guitar, you know the kind of one that’s travelled with you.
Good company, seen the miles.
Passing it back and forth.
On the river banks.
Here’s one I wrote.
He smiles back at her.
Here’s one I wrote for you.
They’d found something to argue about earlier. They usually did. But they had made peace with it a long time ago.
And she looks at him.
He’s older now.
Skin and bones.
The weight dropping off him.
But she still sees the light in his eyes.
And to him.
She’s older now.
A little worn by the road.
Still bursting with passion.
Like the day they met.
And when it gets dark they light a fire.
Dance to the playlist they made.
Sky open above them.
Two crows.
Together.
Let’s go down to the river.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
This story is from my collection “Death”, which is available now on Kindle.
