Dec 27, 2018
1 min read
Desolation
I’d lain rigid in bed for hours. The bed Joe and I had shared for fifty years.
The dawn chorus had been and gone. The chattering school children had passed by, and the cars all departed.
The ormolu clock, a wedding present from someone long forgotten, ticked away on the shelf.
Our room was stifling. Sweat trickled down my face, but Joe's body lay cold.
