The house bursting and yet empty.
This is a bareness of harvest or pestilence.
Tilly put the book down when her Aunt asked what she was reading.
She made an excuse and escaped through the kitchen. Hurried along the pockmarked lane.
The keys were cold in her palm, which was odd, seeing as they had been hung by the Aga.
When she climbed the gate she heard him muttering about townies always f’ing over good gates by not climbing over hinge end.
The tractor won’t start at first, takes a little coaxing.
Great Old Lady, done more than her fair share of things and would carry on longer than he would no doubt.
She eased it into gear and checked the harrow out of the back window.
He’d liked things finished, seen through to the end.
Today was as good a day as any.
