Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
Once upon a time there was a little village, situated in a small spot between a tidal river and the ocean. In a noisy world, it was a tiny triangle of peace.
The little town had a little shop and a little pebbly beach. Beyond the pebbly beach, if you walked to head of the river and turned left, there was a large expanse of white, sandy beach. The beach was almost always empty.
In a ramshackle old house just back from the sand dunes, there lived a little old lady.
Throughout her long life, she had lived in big cities and worked hard at a career. She had travelled the world and had loved dearly and passionately.
She had been called back to this little village, the village by both the river and the sea.
It had stayed with her throughout the years; she had never really left it behind. Her dilapidated house was her sanctuary, filled with memories of a long life, well lived.
Every day, the little old lady walked carefully down her steep gravel driveway to the river beach with all its little pebbles and turned left toward the head, where the river met the ocean.
When she reached the river head, she turned left and continued down the white, empty beach.
The roar of the ocean calmed her and the impossibly straight, unhindered line of the horizon comforted her. Here, there was only ocean and sky.
One day on her long walk, she encountered a large German Shepherd.
She was not afraid of the dog. She greeted him by ruffling his ears like an old friend.
They walked together happily to the end of the beach, up through the sand dune track towards home; the house on the hill. As always, it was lit with welcome and warmth.
The old lady walked slowly up her steep gravel driveway. She looked at the dog and he tilted his head sideways. His left ear flopped over at the top and his deep brown eyes were inquisitive.
The old lady ushered the dog inside and he settled himself immediately on the old, fluffy brown mat in front of the warm wood fire. It was almost like he had come home.
The house itself was filled with furniture and ornaments from days long past.
The old lady looked around and saw the skeletons of her past on each antique couch. Whispering ghosts lived in each room. She wasn’t frightened. They were old friends.
She imagined her younger self, naked and curled in the corner of the couch, as if enticing a lover. As she had when her skin had been soft and her eyes had been clear.
This time though, she was beckoning only to the dusty skeletons around her.
She decided to keep the dog.
The old lady and the dog spent many more years together, walking their daily walk and happy in each other’s company.
Finally one day, the old lady found she could no longer walk down the steep gravel driveway. She was too afraid her old bones would not allow her to trudge back up.
The dog looked at her and tilted his head.
The old lady decided to call her neighbour, Jill.
“I need a volunteer,” she said. “Can you please take my dog for a walk? I can’t take him myself and he so loves the beach.”
Jill was delighted the snobby lady from the house on the hill had asked her to take the handsome dog for a walk.
Jill was young and lonely in the cold, isolated little village with its pebbly beach and its threadbare shacks.
The house on the hill stood waiting, warm; its lights burning in welcome.
Her young legs walked easily up the old lady’s steep gravel driveway. She knocked on the glass-paneled door.