A WOUNDED HEART
It was almost five in the morning. The sky was still pitch-dark. Gasping in the cool air, Ronny pattered downhill on the wending trail. Agitated by the sporatic sound of birds, he was reaching Beth’s house. It was a two-storied lakefront contemporary styled property with a long limestone walkway to the lake from the front porch. In those clear evenings, they’d walk to the bank, hand in hand, catching the last glimpse of the sun dipping into the water. As he drew close, he started reminiscing about all those times, the times when they were counting the stars.
The private gate was always opened. He sneaked in quietly, glanced around and situated himself behind a few oak trees near the west fence. He knew Beth would come out soon with her bike.
He found a rock to sit on and
