Rose

Woman dancing in a field picture

“Rooooose!”

His voice was rough with overuse – he had been shouting for hours. Usually she just wandered off to the bottom of the garden, or sometimes climbed over the fence into the pasture beyond to chase after sheep, but this time there was no sign of her and he was frantic with worry.

Then he saw her, walking along the pavement towards their house, naked except for a little cap she had made out of newspaper. He grabbed a coat and ran towards her.

“Rose, where have you been this time?” he shouted angrily as he grabbed her and wrapped the coat around her. Her trim little body was blue with the cold and she was bleeding from a gash in her knee. “What happened?”

She looked up at her husband with confused eyes. “I was looking for you. But I couldn't find you. A nice man offered to help me look for you. But he wasn't so nice. I ran away.”

“But Rose,” he replied, “I was here. I am always here.”

He held her tightly and together they stood on the derelict porch while the sun settled for a well-deserved rest.

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