She had lost her way to a dingy path. The morning mist was mixing real with the imagery of her tired mind. The solitude of her surroundings struck a chord with her loneliness. The sturdy trees bereft of leaves echoed her existence. They had forgotten the days of yore when Spring had come knocking. But Spring would come again despite their forgetting. Had she forgotten too?
She stopped near a lone house, inviting her with its empathy and seclusion. Experience counseled that something so fascinating in the middle of melancholy could never be well-meaning. She lingered … then decided to return.
These are my 100 words for this week’s Friday Fictioneer’s Prompt.