Hiking Rails

A path of stone and rails of steel run away into the abundant green of summer. Liesl is lost in the rhythm. Doesn’t notice as I stop, take a sip from my canteen. Unkas pauses briefly, then pads on.

Birds flick by overhead. The haze burns off, promising more heat.

It is Sunday morning and our sojourn will come to an end. The madness of business resumes tomorrow. Our respite flies to the vault of memory.

Perhaps I shall consider our weekend getaway again on another snowy day. Huddled by a crackling fire. Pen and pad in hand, writing stories.

(100 words)

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