Love Lingers

His favourite place to rest has always been beneath the apple boughs. During winter he watches the shadows dance on the earth. In spring he listens to the bees singing without care of his presence and in summer he takes shelter beneath the shade, certainly they are all wonderful but then comes autumn. A season that cannot be likened to any other, where the leaves paint the sky and the orchard floor so that he is sat within a world of gold. These are his dreaming months and today his dreams take him to a tender place.

He vaguely remembers a time when daydreaming was rewarded with a nip on the ear. He has seen many things taken from him over the years, memories, friends, freedom but the one thing he has kept despite the nips are his daydreams which take him past his smoky eyes that now water in the wind.

Slowly and with a grunt he rests his aching back against the trunk. Propped alongside him are the spoils of fights from younger years hanging proudly on his walking stick. He's not sure he'd have the energy for that dastardly fox anymore but the memory of it still makes him chuckle. His old waistcoat now barely covers his portly belly. His acorn buttons remain, some looser than the rest and all a nuisance to fasten with shaking hands. As he drifts off he puts his cold paws into his pockets and there he feels it, a stitch in the fabric, a memory in thread. He see's her then in the sett darning his pocket with rabbit skins. A warm glow of candlelight, a soft working hum, the comforting tap tapping of needles. The tapping turns into reality and he is aware that those needles no longer knock. With a cruel realisation he sees it was just a squirrel checking for food.

With a hazy tear in his eye he stands and kisses the carved trunk goodbye. The names may have faded but the heart lives on.'

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