Rewinding 'Dear ....'

It's the weekend and time for the Rewind over at The Pink Fibro.

It was so lovely to see some old faces last week and to meet some new ones.  Thank you again Allison for bringing this back (I will eventually stop saying thank you, or you'll block me or something .... ;).

Anyway, This weeks theme is writing.  Rewind a post you've written about writing or some of your own writing - anything really that fits with the theme.

Well, I haven't written any posts about writing (apart from a few whingy ones about how HARD it is sometimes)  But, a few of you may remember that I used to write a little fiction now and then.

I've chosen this one because it's not only some of my writing but it's also ABOUT writing so it's a double whammy (I'm fully expecting a prize for that!).

It started with this photo that I took in April last year as the sun set over Saunton Beach in North Devon.

'Dear ...'

The light was fading bathing the sky over the sea  in a wash of pink and gold.

She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, the tang of salt laden air touched her lips echoing the sting from the salt filled tears that blurred her vision as she wrote.

Her attention was momentarily caught by the silhouette of the surfers making their way back across the sand, dark shapes captured against the soft glow of the water behind them.

Two tiny figures returning from their battle to dominate the vastness of the ocean.

(if they can do it so can we ... so can we ... )

Turning back to the letter in front of her she rubbed a weary hand across her face leaving a smudge of ink on her cheekbone.

It seemed she had been writing forever, with so much to say and so much that had been left unsaid.

Her voice had been stifled, ignored and discarded for so long. Please god,  this time, let it be heard for surely the time was coming when the words would be lost forever and her voice faltered and finally fell silent.

The pages shimmered, ruffled by a breeze carrying the scent of ocean in it wake.

As she put out a hand to still them she watched the words she had written gradually fade and disappear and she realised it was too late.  The words were already gone.

Unwritten, unread, unheard ...