Walking in Mind

A Trail of Thoughts

Obol

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Clearing ivy from the back garden, we uncovered a head of unknown provenance. The man had obviously lived well, this much was apparent from his neck and cheeks, the skin of which still sagged from the fat beneath. Had he, I wondered, watched us through the ivy as we indulged on summer evenings, gorging with friends until the early hours?

We warmed to him immediately, and so, to help him on his way, placed a coin upon his lips. I expect, one day, to go out into the garden and find him gone, but for now he waits, eyes closed, chewing on his obol, as if planning his next move.

***

Author: Alan Nance

Old bones creak along the trail. Words often elude me at my desk. I can't go on. I'll go on.

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