A lone figure trudged up the grassy slope dragging a near-empty wooden cart carrying his meagre worldly possessions. He stopped just inches from the cliff’s edge.
As he watched frothing waves crashing over jagged rocks he tried gathering whatever thoughts remained.
Squawking gulls swooped and dived. If he’d possessed the gift of flight then maybe he could have looked down on his life and seen where it went so terribly wrong.
Today, atop the cliff sits a rotting wooden cartwheel. Somebody must have brought it up from the rocks below, someone who once knew him, once upon a happier time.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Sandra Crook for once again letting us use her picture.
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