The lowering sun bid a sad farewell,

Reluctantly slipping behind a band of grey that sat upon the winter horizon,

Wrapped against the late afternoon chill,

He fooled himself,

Pretended that the tears were a watering,

A result of the whipping wind against his face,

But tears they were,

Real and sad,

Lonely droplets wiped away by a gloved hand.

The wide view,

Across the field was different,

No longer shared as he leaned in isolation,

Recalling the warmth of fond memories,

Memories at the five bar gate.

* The Five Bar Gate Series *