The icy wind pricked at her cheeks as she stormed furiously up the hill, it was a grey day but at least it was dry. She needed the space to clear her head and the rage that was threatening to take over; every crunch underfoot and snippet of birdsong helped to ease the tension in her shoulders.
As she broke through the tree line she came into the clearing and found the standing stones, she hadn’t realised she had come this far but she quite liked the stones and the mysterious nature of their placing. She stopped, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, tried to sense the space around her, when she opened her eyes she walked up to one of the stones and placed her hands flat to the stone.
The wind whipped up around her, her hair flying free, the rush in her ears, muting out everything that she had felt before. As quickly as it came the wind quieted, another deep breath as she took her hands off the stone.
“What are you doing?”
Her sigh was full of despair, “For just a second I thought that maybe I had been transported back to Scotland in the 1700s.”
“I think that I’d have to be wearing a kilt and riding a horse for that to be true.” He had that smirk on his face not the annoying one, the one that meant she was being cute.
“Yip and to be really authentic it would be great if you turned into Jamie Fraser.” She got an eye roll this time.
“Maybe we should start watching something new for a while, like The Wire or Dexter…”
“That’s a great idea, then when you really annoy me I’ll know the best ways to get rid of your body.”
Written in response to the #writephoto prompt that was created by Sue Vincent.
Use the image and title provided as inspiration to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose…and link back to the promt post with a pingback to be included in the round-up. There is no word limit and no style requirements, except to keep it fairly family friendly and not passionately political.