the edge

wind screamed in his ears. a hollow cry.

he stepped out across the jagged grass and approached the edge. cold stone filled the arches of his bare feet and his toes gripped at the precipice. he spread his arms and stretched his fingers through the wind. cold air filled his lungs, his heart drummed in his throat and his stomach tightened.

wind carried his shoulders forward and his toes released.

his eyes tore open as he was lifted forward. blood filled his ears and his heart stopped. violent waves rushed at him and fingers of grey foam reached up, pulling him down. his shirt whipped at his back and his stomach pressed at his lungs.

wind whispered to him and sighed and the jagged rocks cracked an echo.

oranges

the wheels of the cart kicked at the dust as they rattled down the track. its cargo bounced and jumbled through pot holes and over loose stones. the driver sat, reigns threaded through his dusty fingers, squinting against the sun under the rim of his cloth cap. his eyes watched the thread muscles of the horses thighs sway. bright red poppies peeked from amongst long grass as they passed. an axle creaked and groaned and the weight of the cart shifted. oranges rolled and bumped under the tarpaulin, a formless mass of orange bubbles, ever changing shape.

a bump and a crack and a latch broken. an orange wave swelled and spilt from the back of the cart. the pool of orange seeped across the dust into the grass and the driver tugged at the reigns to halt the cart and turned. he lifted his cap, wiping sweat and dust from his brow with the back of his hand. he replaced his cap and lowered himself from the seat, his boots clapping the dust as he landed.

a few lost oranges still rolled and scattered but most lay in a bright pool that arched out before him. he sank his fingers deep into pockets and toyed with a loose orange with the toe of his boot. he looked across his shoulder at the shimmering road ahead as it snaked up towards the distant farm house. he sighed through his teeth.

a home

the soft wood of the bannister warmed her fingers as she moved down the stairs taking one last glance behind her. she paused at the bottom and looked across the empty living room. shadows of familiar furniture and familiar faces played across her memory. the space where his chair used to be pulled her forward and she slid her feet across the carpet. dust motes danced in a beam of sun that cleaved the room from an open window.

as she stood within the open space memories played out before her, circled her, sat before her and waited patiently by the door. they smiled, they laughed, they ran a warm hand across her cheek. she touched her face and fought at the knot in her throat. she smiled at the empty space. warmth rose in her chest and she turned.

she crossed the threshold into the morning air and turned to pull the door closed. the memories inside called to her and waved. the empty walls vibrated with longing and she hesitated as she breathed the warm scent of home. as she turned the key she lay her forehead against the panelled wood and the sun dried the path of a tear across her cheek.