I'm tired, so very tired as I write this. It's amazing what a few hours in a busy restaurant surrounded by people can be. And tomorrow I go to my granddad's funeral...so I'm sure you can understand my lack of desire to write. Firstly because my brain won't work. But I put together a random piece of prose that I can't even process in my head. I can't tell you if it makes sense because I honestly have no idea.
I'll read it back in the morning and let you know my thoughts, but for now, I managed to write. Though it is very short.
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A tree sits on the top of a cliff, weathered into position as a leaning lady. Alone. A cliff much higher than every piece of land surrounding it. Nothing else can grow in the stark, dilapidated surroundings. Not with winds gusting faster and harder than anywhere else as far as the eye could see. That doesn't stop them going up there, walking along the clifftop until the wind blows their eyes almost shut and their coats tightly around their bodies. They're not used to the harsh conditions, can't cope with the battle between human and nature as they attempt their ascent. There once lay a bench under the tree with a plaque 'For Deidre, a woman who loved to feel the wind in her face.' But even that had suffered from the intense winds and salty moisture in the air. So the tree continued to sit alone, in a world where people came and went with as much frequency as the sun, until one day a man cared little for the strong gales. He laid down a blanket and sat crossed legged in front of the beautiful view. And there he sat, with his eyes barely open as he watched the wind blow the sea towards land and back again.
P.S. It's morning and that made enough sense, yay.
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