She heard the cuckoo’s chorus echo in the trees. A sign of Spring and opportunity.
The water gently splashed against her ankles as she dipped her toes into the refreshing stream. Soon it would be dry and she’d be able to walk from one bank to the other without using the bridge.
Their names were still there, crudely carved beneath with ragged stones which they’d kept as a reminder of days long gone.
As kids, they had come here to play and cool off, later to fish with pins, bread and cotton, two innocents in tune with nature and each other.
As teens they’d argued and gone their separate ways only to meet up again some years later, realising how foolish they’d been and how much they had lost.

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