I sit atop the hill wrapped in a cardigan and Joe’s love. I always come here when I need to think. I breathe in crisp air, tinged with the scent of honeysuckle and rub my arms. The brilliant sunshine and aquamarine sky foretells a warmth that will emerge later. It is still early. The birds sing me their morning song, ‘make a decision,’ they urge.
The village looks tiny spread out before me. I take comfort from the familiarity. There is security growing up in a small community. Some may find it suffocating but I have never craved the anonymity of a city. Never longed to see the world.
Joe is down there somewhere. Later he will want my answer. I don’t know what to say.
The weather vane gently rotates on the church roof. I feel envious. Imagine knowing you are always pointing in the right direction.
I absently pick the petals from a daisy ‘he loves me,’ ‘he loves me not.’
He loves me, that’s never been in question, clarity comes. A year’s travelling had seemed so terrifying but I will always be home as long as I am with Joe
I run down the hill to pack.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. A 200 word story inspired by a photo prompt.