Patchwork Quilt

Each field looked different, unique with its shape, colour, pattern, and like a carefully crafted patchwork quilt, every piece slotting together to form a united picture. The deep green hedgerows working alongside the pale fields, the soft lines interweaving with the rough, imperfect patches. The sky above us was warm, a shelter to rest under.

Alice hadn’t moved her eyes off the quilt for some time. Nor had I.

What was she thinking? Once upon a time, I might have known. Now, it was like deciphering the enigma code. Sometimes, I wondered why we got married at all. We had managed to stay together for ten years. Could we stay together another ten? We’d find that out at counselling. Though, I didn’t know how talking to a woman called Ms Birdwhistle was going to help. Maybe she would be the needle to sew us back together. Or maybe she would just unpick the thread that was loosening all on its own.

There was one thing I did know. The quilt was beautiful.

Writer. Faith walker. Notebook collector. Coffee drinker. Coffee Drinker. Coffee Drinker. Mother of two...and counting... @BathSpaUni MA CW grad.
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