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All I Want




Shayne Parkinson




Copyright © S. L. Parkinson 2010




Smashwords Edition





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All I Want

The air seems softer at this time of day, turned golden by the last sunlight. This modest patch of grass just behind the house is the highest point on our land; although that’s making no great claim, given how low the rest of the property is. I called this the Pinnacle when I was in a giddy mood one day long ago, and the name stuck, as such things do.

If I were to stand, I’d see the whole farm spread below me, a neat patchwork of paddocks wound through with the dark ribbon of the creek. I might even see a motor-car in the distance, for there are motorists intrepid enough to venture along the coast road these days, now that it’s no longer a rutted track barely fit for carts. But in this moment I’m content to sit, Tom at my side, the sea a thread of blue on the edge of the world. From here I can see a posy of white flowers, scattered petals making a halo around it, in the sheltered corner that’s never without some such adornment.

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