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It was a glorious day in the middle of spring. The city, from this distance, was majestic, yet silent. The waters of the bay were that intense shade of blue that stunned visitors to this city when they saw it for the first time. Bobbing on the swaying water, the masts of the boats signified a prosperous populace with an outward looking view. Looking across this bay, on this day, tears welled in Clive’s eyes.
This was his vantage point. His and Celia’s. And she was now gone. Departed. No more would they sit here on this bench. No more would they watch the sun descend, together. That was all over. In the past. Finished.
Rising to his full height, Clive took a deep breath, and determined to find a glass half full, if at all possible. He held immense affection for this small pocket of gardens, and would return.
2 comments:
And a return to your old voice which is comfortable.
Yes, I can recognise the 'old' voice. And yet many of the sentences are short and clipped.
The past tense is a normal write for me. I like to reflect rather than act. I am not one for the mad slamming of car doors with guns at the ready.
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