Yesteryear Fiction

The Woodcutter's Dinnertime
By Paul Tristram


The Woodcutter listened to the whistle
that signalled his dinnertime to begin.
He wiped his brow with his handkerchief
and then his sweat soaked bearded chin.
He placed his axe over his shoulder
walked slowly over to the workmen’s shed.
He took his sandwich box out of his locker
tied his handkerchief around his head.
He went outside and sat on some logs
then lovingly thought of his dear home.
On his rare days off from his hard work
he had built it, every beam and stone.
The flowers upon his big oaken table
he himself had picked every single one.
On the walls he placed some paintings
over the fireplace hung his fathers gun.
He thought excitedly of the next day
for it would certainly change his life.
Tomorrow at last would be market day
and there he was to go to find a wife.
He thought of the yet unknown woman
hoping she would be happy in his home.
How nice to hear singing and laughter
after living so very long upon his own.
But there his thoughts came to a stop
for the work time whistle was blown.
So he once again set about his hard work
with no more time for thoughts of home.


- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.