The first snow of the winter arrived. He looked out at the path and the fields, transformed, covered in a smooth white cowling.

This might be the last time he would see such a sight, the pure untrodden blanket, but he’d thought that every winter for the last decade and still he soldiered on.

Each year the aches and pains returned as the warmth of the summer vanished, the sounds faded as his hearing diminished, the colours dimmed as his eyesight faltered.

Yet he always survived and was always glad to. There was still so much to enjoy in life. His grandchildren for a start. He never thought he would have seen them into their teenage years.

Well, maybe for the last time, he thought, as he set off. In the silence that the snowfall brings he heard that joyous crunch as his foot broke the crisp surface.

He walked steadily along, and even managed a funny, hesitant jog, lifting his old knees up as high as he could to stomp through the deep snow.

He reached the new road, where the cars had already cleared the snow. He turned and looked back down the lane behind him. He smiled at the trail of footprints he had left behind him, the only blemishes on the pristine white floor.

Still able to leave a mark on the world, he thought, with a smile. Christmas would be good this year when all the family came to stay.

Copyright Sue Vincent

This is a response to the #writephoto Prompt – Untrodden curated over at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.

My new novel, ‘A Justified State,’ is now available in Paperback from Amazon and Book Depository and on Amazon Kindle.
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33 responses to “HIS DAILY PERAMBLE”

  1. Cheers Ian!

    This story reminds me of when my aunt was dying, right about this time of year, she didn’t make it to her birthday, would have turned 70, (this was a few years) ago, and when she was in hospital, a few weeks before her death, we had a sudden and slightly unexpected snow fall, it was early for it that year. A nurse had opened the curtains and pointed out how beautiful it was, and insisted on wheeling my aunt’s bed to the window to see – even though she was adamant that she didn’t want to look outside (she had always been a very active, outdoors person, hunted, fished etc. – lived her entire like pretty much in the country) – but the nurse wouldn’t give in to her wishes. I’d like to think that eventually, as time lengthened and my aunt watched her last snow fall, that maybe, she made some peace with herself and her death, which she staunchly refused to accept. I hope so.

    Anyhow, I just wanted to share that with you –

    and that’s just the thing, like your aging character in the story, one doesn’t know – can never be certain what each day will bring. And I like the way you’ve fashioned the footprints, and “amusement” in the realization that in some ways, we do leave (im)prints, whether we’re aware of it, or not.

    Liked by 1 person

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