The Gardener
The late afternoon sun glistened like a thousand tiny stars on the rippling bay. The beach was eerily deserted except for a lone woman who stood motionless at the shoreline, her head cocked slightly to one side. A light breeze softly ruffled her hair and with one hand she absentmindedly swept it off her face. In her other hand she held a book, little and black. All of a sudden, as if her name had been called, she turned, striding purposefully away from the water and the city view, across the bay. Ahead of her the beach stretched towards an outcrop of rocks in the distance, signalling what would be the end of her walk.