Joshua Studebaker

Dog Hill Wood. Second Place in Little Black Book Challenge.

Cider was our currency and apples our windfall. It was autumn, and I came in from the orchards into the streets of Laddebury with the leaves starting to hue. The sunlight was strong, and the breeze was brisk. Rosy lived on the floor above her uncle’s tavern – The Saxefras Blossom. I would see her tonight. My hands were in my pockets. She waved at me from her balcony. Her clothes would smell of tobacco. They always did. Yet she was bubbly and golden and glowing. And she hadn’t a mind beyond this market-town dale.