The sixteenth story in my collection of thirty, When I Am Not Writing Poetry, ‘Her’ is one man’s awakening – literally – a time when he cannot quite tear himself from the past nor face the future that the day will bring. His dreams of his life so real; until…
It was not unusual for him to lie there awake. The heat of the day remained, trapped in the small room under the eaves; trapped in his body which was damp with perspiration; trapped in his mind. He had long since thrown back the covers and now the cooler night airs that occasionally drifted in through the window chilled his sweat, but only briefly. His mind remained feverish. In turmoil. He had been here for months now and the time had passed pleasantly enough—the summer had been fine and he knew that by now the harvest was in, the hay stacked in the barns and the barley heaped on a shed floor. Now, as the nights began to draw in he suddenly felt unsure. He reached out.
First there had been the chaos of sorting the lambs for market…
‘Her’ can be found in When I Am Not Writing Poetry – available here or on Amazon.
