One for sorrow, two for…sorrow.
Her life, an empty basket. Nothing remained, nothing worth keeping. She’d spent years chasing shadows, avoiding shadows too; swimming against an ever incoming tide. She walked a path that led to nowhere. Her ideas, ambitions, her hopes came to nought. Ever one to be wise was she, but after the event. She tried, she really tried.
Few attended her final farewell. ‘She who would valiant be’ they mumbled, ‘gaist all disaster’.
Three for a funeral, four for…nothing really.
Thanks to Susan Spaulding for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction, and to Joy Pixley for the photo.