The old man still sat with his easel outside his caravan. He’d been here all week, working on a seascape. The wind ruffled his gray curls as he sat and painted. He seemed so alone. No one had visited since he had arrived. He’d been kind to us children, so I waved and walked over
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Comments 21
*weeps* (but in a good way *g*)
That was lovely, thank you, and I hope your week is over and the weekend is a whole lot better for you.
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That is beautifully written, such an impact for so few words. Poor Doyle, or lucky Doyle(?) - his life partner always with him, even in death?
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Thanks for the kind words.
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