Brasher left the station building he apologised that the hoardings for the goods shed were not ready. The printer, though, had promised that he would deliver within three days. ‘I shall stay until then, Abby. I would like to make sure the placement is correct and to your satisfaction.’ ‘My satisfaction?’ Abby queried. ‘I will be happy with whatever you suggest. After all, you are the expert.’ Mr. Brasher acknowledged her compliment with a little smile. Abby then raised the subject of payment for all this work. He shook his head. ‘Please don’t mention it, Abby it was little enough, and my pleasure in contributing something to this work is more than sufficient thanks.’ They were leaving through the wicket gate when Abby noticed the old sign, the one that she had seen broken and thrown amongst the weeds on the track. It was now whole and affixed to the diagonally slatted fence. She looked at Mr. Brasher. ‘Did you organise this?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Abby. Nothing to do with me.’. They stand out because they are graceful and elegant. Come to think of it, they aren’t all that young, but they do share the grace and elegance.From time to time, I may be sitting and leaning against a tree, or perched on a log or boulder, just soaking up the ambience. Doing that, I’ve been approached on occasion by ... people. Mostly female, but not always. But always dressed ... differently. One I’ve seen more often than the others, a pretty girl – maybe woman – with silvery hair. Slim, with a pretty laugh. In a dress. Gown?The first time we spoke, I was sitting on a fallen tree-trunk, listening to the birds making their various calls in the surrounding trees.“Hello, Bert.”You can imagine I was surprised to be addressed by name, and familiarly. “Hello,” I said, quizzically. “Have we met?”“Oh, no, though I’ve often seen you here. With your wife, though not recently. She called you ‘Bert’. I hope you don’t mind my calling you that?”“No. I don’t mind – everyone calls me Bert. I used.
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