She lingered for a moment at the window after he left. She just knew that his hand had lingered on the reins of his saddle for a moment before he threw himself onto the saddle, though he did not look back. Was the linger enough for her to regret what she had said to him in the parlor? A stiffening in her neck suggested no.
She closed her eyes, refusing to watch him turn the bend in the road. She would be the arbiter of his departure. Not him. Not this time.
A cracked window pane, neglected by her father, allowed the breeze to stir the air of the room. The wrinkles her grip had creased the lace curtain with began to relax and smooth. A pen sat idle in her hand and had dripped a bit of ink on the other wise unmarked journal in her lap. She marked time with her exhaling and only opened her eyes to the chiming of the clock in the parlor downstairs.
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DJC365_2011
Now that is drama... did you write the above? Oh yea, nice picture... did you take the picture and if yes, where is that building?