week five; a one shot about autumn/winter.
“How beautiful the leaves grow old – how full of light and color are their last days.” – John Burroughs
The cold air nipped at the base of Violets neck, her thick, curly brown hair pulled into a messy bun, the wind not allowing much else from her.
His hand on her hip was warm, and comforting, as the duo looked out into the crashing waves of the ocean – their little cove hideaway being put to rest for the year, the cold air that chilled their bones dropped drastically as the neared the water.
“I’ll miss this,” Violet said, resting her head on his shoulder.
“It will be here when the seasons turn,” he told her, “and so will we.”
