The Lonely Lane.

The lonely Lane.

A warm day in summer, people were walking past my house on their way to the lane that leads out into the country. The lane has on the one side a stonewall on the other a thick hedge. The wall could have been built by the Romans, not a stone is out of place; even the cobblestones on the surface of the lane are evenly placed. One could imagine the roman Legionnaires marching along the lane to put down some quarrel between two tribes that were arguing about grazing lands for the cattle.

I did not often walk down the lane, as I always felt uneasy for some reason or other that I could not understand. The hedge in summer gave off a delightful aroma of sweet smelling honeysuckle. Wild flowers pushing their way to the sunlight were a delight to see. Wild dog roses bravely showed their pink petals as if daring someone to brave their thorns and pick some of the roses.

You possibly might think that the lane is just another of those means to go from one place to another. A lane to walk down and enjoy the smells and sights. Birds have always built their nests in the hedge, raised their families. Bees flying from flower to flower, a sight to enjoy as they flew by with their legs thick with pollen from the pretty flowers.

The lane I can hear you saying is just another lane so why call it the lonely lane. Hearing your words I am tempted to tell you to come and walk down this same lane in the long cold winter months. The snow the rain why even the wild animals seem to avoid the lane. It is believe me really a lonely lane, a place where even the ghosts of the past do not walk down.