The Grove

The voice, though unfamiliar, was comforting and very much of this world. But I could not see where it was coming from.

“Who’s there?” I shouted. there…there…there… My voice echoed across the park.

“Relax...relax...It’s Dan Flanagan. You don’t know me, that don’t matter.  I’m right over here. Under the trees. Over here.”

Dan Flanagan? Did I know that name? It seemed I had heard it, at least. Daniel Flanagan…  The trees swayed in fluctuating shadow. I thought I could see a face, or at least a patch of darkness lighter than the rest.

A person? What to ask? “Where do you come from?” I said, quietly.

And I was answered.

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. :)