Pushing the heavy gates open the touch of the iron bars, as cold as
ice, seized up my hand completely. Even though I could feel the
unevenness of the old cobbled path beneath me, they were smooth in
contrast to the crunching of the odd dead leaf that I stepped on.
Carrying on up the path the grass carried on forever into the horizon,
a dull grey colour as if it had lost the will to live and stopped
growing altogether.
One lonesome Oak tree stood by the house swaying in the wind and as
the wind swept by the tree whispered to the air and its surroundings.
The moon shone bright white, in the cloudless sky, it was the only
source of light that could be seen for miles. Owls occasionally
fluttered by overhead, their silhouettes passing over the grass. The
air was cold and numb and with every breath I drew a misty, chilly
exhale followed.