I must have passed the store a hundred times over the last ten years. It’s located beside the A12 in Wrentham, Suffolk, England. Weeds grow unchecked in the gutters, plasterwork crumbles over the fenced off doorway; I can’t remember when the shop was last open for business. Mostly the store is passed without thought or feeling, but not always; its moods change with the seasons.
a diamond on her finger
gold on mine
Summer seems to make no difference to the emptiness contained behind the door. The fun fair poster is still stuck to the windows, the event having passed years ago.
dressed in black
In the glint of September light, every imperfection can be clearly seen. I often stop to admire the dereliction close up if time allows. Another piece of plaster dislodged by the wind, another crack opens up; after a while it becomes hard to notice the difference.
a tighter grip on the wheel
Cold rain hammers windows opaque with dirt and drips from the eaves onto the pavement below. The blinds remain closed, who knows when they will open again?