A Short Story
I sat on the edge of the bench. The wood smooth under my fingers. I stared out at the lake – a perfect azure blue. The sun sparkled on the water. Two white swans glided by majestically.
I glanced to my left – a squirrel and its mate skittered up a tree. The trunk gnarled with age. How many summers had passed since it was planted? Two hundred? Three hundred?
A young couple walked past hand in hand. She flung her head back, laughing at something he said.