Greta Peden

Walk The Depths With Me

He had always loved the sea. His cheeks rosy and bitten by the cold, but he didn’t care, the wind whipping his baby blonde hair in a sudden updraught. She would always remember him like this, chubby cheeked, barely five years old in the sweater she had knit him from what remnants of wool and thread she could salvage from worn out socks.