By Sarah Clayville
She wove her nest from aching memories of the summer they spent together by the shore. Bodies entwined, limbs carefully constructed into cradles to catch their whispered I love yous. At night they listened to the waves’ declarations and the seabirds’ replies. Summer was best when they closed their eyes and couldn’t see the end in sight.
The danger in making a nest from memories is over time, they turn brittle and crack. They no longer hold the weight of waiting and praying that the next summer, two strangers can recapture a moment that now belongs to those crashing waves and the far-off cries of birds who never stay still.
Sarah Clayville is a high school teacher and author who works from a small town in central Pennsylvania where she has lived forever. She holds a special place in her heart for short fiction that stops people in their tracks. Find more of her work at SarahSaysWrite.com.