Damp Earth

The gas lamp rose and fell as his arm swung back and forth. He carried a garden fork in his other hand. It was the only thing he could think to bring.

The moon hung low over the fields. The stalks of the linseed rustled in the breeze.

He moved into the woods, and held the lamp out in front of him.

To his right, an oak tree creaked.

He walked on down the slope, meandering carefully between the branches, trying not to stumble as he went. He paused, and looked around. The lamp gave off a slight hiss, but there was little else to be heard. He sniffed. He was sure he could smell it.

He turned the lamp off, and threw it on the ground. It wasn’t helping anymore.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)