He looked back at the cottage, full of hiraeth washing over him. The nostalgia, the memories, the sunny days underneath the big oak tree up the hill.
During the cool autumn days when he would shuffle through clusters of red and brown maple leaves behind the cottage and flinging them all over in an ecstacy.
The cold, short days of winter, when he would spend the day cuddling up in a warm, wooly blanket by the fireplace, listening to old tales by his Granny again and again.
The pleasant, warm days of spring where he’d head out to the enormous field of wild flowers just by the small mountain nearby, picking prettiest ones and just the right ones for his old Granny who couldn’t walk far enough to enjoy this pleasant sight. She loved flowers.
But alas, those Halcyon days had past and gone ever so quickly, never to return again. He picked up his suitcase, adjusted his suit which his late grandfather had left behind for him, and left his childhood behind, never looking back again.
Fiction from the soul 