The deep amber sun, crushed in cloud, sunk to the horizon drawing a close to the day. A low breeze danced, playing with blades of grass on the hillside overlooking the cliffs. Between the flora and fauna, an ancient ruins, a relic lying at rest. Abandoned by those who dwelt there long ago; sitting empty, a forlorn memory.
The wind brushed against the tired and cracked masonry. An old tower, a watchtower against the tides and tests of time.
A feminine, delicate voice sings softly, her gentle tones reverberating on the crumbling stone absorbed into the enveloping night;
“Llywelyn Fawr”
©DJA 2020
From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories
The Angry Farmer 