… for #writephoto
‘Lucky heather mister?’ said the gipsy as she held out a little sprig bound with a bow. I took it, passed her a couple of coins and went on my way.
Later that day, as I sat pinching it between my fingers, I began to remember. It was many moons ago. Her name was Heather.
We met at a gig, or was it a party? Yes, a party. She always wore something purple, a blouse or sometimes a scarf. And I always called her my little bunch of heather!
We would take long slow walks together in the countryside. Miles, we’d walk. We didn’t say much. We’d just listen to the sounds of nature.
We went our separate ways after a while, though I don’t recall why. It could have been when she went off to university. Whatever it was, we lost touch.
Lucky heather the gipsy called it. Some people probably believe in it! It’s still over there on the table. I wonder, shall I make a wish? Why not. I know, I’ll wish to hear from Heather again!
I’ll let you know if my wish comes true, but I’m not holding out much hope!
You have a wish too! Catch!
Thanks to Sue Vincent for hosting.