How sad, thought Grant, as he examined his solitary shadow on the grass.
He started to walk back to the house and the first autumn leaves, dried by the sun, made distracting crunchy noises.
His shadow preceded him as if it was in a hurry.
But he was in no hurry at all.
“Hold on! I’m not ready.”
The sound of his voice surprised him. It sounded doddery and quivered unpleasantly in his throat.
Melancholy caught him unawares.
He stopped, closed his eyes, and tried to coax gentler and happier thoughts.
Of course he was being silly. It wasn’t as if any harm had come to the twins. They’d only left for boarding school and would be back at the end of term.
He felt incapable of wiping the sadness away.
Looking down once again at his shadow, he saw another more graceful silhouette appear at his side, and reached out his own shadowy hand until it grasped hers.
No shadow could portray the comfort of her touch as the darkness in his soul receded to the hidden recesses of his troubled mind.
His sadness had dissipated but he feared that he had come to recognize it too well.
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge curated by Al Forbes . The challenge is to use the photo prompt to write around 200 words of flash fiction.