Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

I flicked quickly through the untidy pages of crossings-out, garish ink and poor writing, eager to replace them with entries reflecting my family and friends. The old book symbolised those early years when we started out together. A rush of new names, new faces, growing families. Divorce and distance had created casualties along the way. Now I wanted to start afresh. There was a pile of letters and notes at my elbow which I had saved from the Christmas cards, each containing some change, news of illness, new addresses for those who had downsized or moved nearer to family, leaving behind old familiar house names. I copied out the address of a distant cousin onto a new page of B’s. The house name as beautiful as the Arts and Craft house it described.             ‘Do you remember that house?’ Her face turned towards me and I saw her smile.             ‘Yes, lovely place. Beautiful garden. All those roses. I think she’s still there.’ I watched her eyes move towards the window,

  Chattering birds in a cloudless sky. A whispering wind passes by. The turquoise sea shimmers below, as gentle waves endlessly flow.   The heat of the sun on a Summer’s day. Laughing children – happy at play. Hours to fill with fun and pleasure, Making memories to always treasure.   Fluttering leaves carpet the ground, constantly falling without a sound. Vibrant colours – brown, red, and gold, as Autumn arrives, proud and bold.   The moon casts a shadow on the earth below, now covered in a carpet of virgin snow. Icicles gather on windowpanes. Children sledge down slippery lanes.   Soon golden daffodils will dance and sway. A welcoming sight on a warm Spring day. Another season tells a different story, as nature’s revealed in all its glory.