Dusk, the last day of harvest and Luke stood with his wheel barrow, gazing out at the Hopping Field. After a moments searching his eyes settled on a small mound of stones piled up to waist height in a far corner of the barren plot.
His weather beaten face cracking in a smile, he said, ‘I’m coming Granma. Just you wait.’ Then moving quickly he set off towards the mound.
No time to waste. Continue reading “The Hopping Field”