He stood there for aeons. Guardian of the lost. Many came to him, praying for their loved ones, but he stood there, in silence. Men, women, and children cried, laying their hands on him, praying for their missing, afterword placing crosses for their departed. Still he stood. Silent.
Time passed and fewer visitors came, until no one came at all. He longed for the days when loved ones visited the departed. Touching him, praying. He rooted himself deeper.
Graves vanished, but the souls remained. As did he. The guardian of the lost.
This story is prompted by Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo Thursday photo prompt: #writephoto.
Give it a try. You might be surprised at what you can compose.
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