Their love was a fragile infant seedling, planted in the midst of the garden of receding chaos. It hadn’t been expected, but later they thought perhaps it had fallen from the sky and nestled itself under brown, soft earth and trampled autumn leaves, waiting until it was brave enough to bear itself to the weak spring light. Yet she stamped it firmly down one afternoon with a black boot and horse’s hooves before the innocent, well-meaning shoot ever had a chance to emerge. A yellow carnation.
There is one more week to nominate your favorite stories and authors in the fourth Highclere Awards, so get your nominations in!