Velvet Wood
“You can still hear that haunted
whistle from the train,” my Grandmother told us, her eyes wide, her hands
making movements from left to right, up and down in front of our dying
fireplace “my brothers and I would always follow its tracks when we were young
and adventurous.”
“But
Grandmother,” My little brother piped up “how could you have followed the
tracks if you can’t even see them? You say you once tried to find them again
when you were older, yet could not”
Grandma
smiled mysteriously and replied in a whisper “only those who have the right
intentions may see them. See, these are not just any train tracks; they’re
magical train tracks, which carry a train unlike any other upon their moss
covered rails.”
As
Grandma spoke, her words disappeared and pictures began to form in our minds of
how her and her brothers used to venture out, arms full of their satchels and
pick-nick baskets, faces stained red from eating wild berries from the woods
they were exploring, feet squelching within their sodden wellingtons and their breath forming white puffs in front of their faces, obscuring the view before them.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Above is the beginning of a new story I have been working on, inspired by the photograph below. I believe this story will be quite interesting as soon as I work out the plot!
