Gold For My Heart
“An echo of rapture and a memory of pain.” Sylvia closed the slim volume of poetry. Tears swam her tawny brown eyes. Her throat tightened with memories and a nostalgic half-regretful sadness pulled at her mind.
Fall was a dying time of the year. Flamingly beautiful in these quiet Canadian woods, but sad in a way. Fall told of green summer’s end with its riot of plants and fruit trees, the coming of a dead winter when all would be bare and nothing grew.
Sylvia Holbrook blinked hard three times, swallowed past the lump in her throat. In her warm old coat, she snuggled closer against the brilliant red maple tree at her back. The air was nippy. Snow was even forecast later tonight – although it was only October and roses still bloomed around the old farmhouse. Sylvia was making an emotional journey today, partly to say goodbye and partly to forget a recent quarrel.
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