Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

I found this image on Pixabay a few days ago, and it has been haunting me … This could be its story…

The morning sun warmed the memories in the heart of the old couch, spreading through the worn feather cushions to the wooden framework, easing the pain of arthritic rigours.

A rustling in the tree above announced the presence of a lone squirrel. Landing on a cushion with a soft thud, the squirrel began to stretch his muscles in the sunshine. The settee sighed as he watched, a sound like a gentle whisper of wind, as he remembered his early days when he was king of the house, looked for by tired bones after a hard day’s work.

Babies had been born on his comfortable cushions, and countless children had safely fallen asleep in his arms.

So many good times.

A cloud passed in front of the sun, temporarily removing the heat. A shiver reminded him of other times when tears were shed, dampening his upholstery.

Of angry tears, and later, happy ones.

Romances had begun and ended, and the years passed.

Before he knew it, they noticed the sagging cushions and faded covers. He heard the uncomfortable complaints and the plans to replace him. All too soon, he found himself forgotten, dumped under a tree in the garden awaiting collection.

Only nobody came.

He wasn’t lonely. The birds and animals were his friends these days, and nature did her best to comfort him, spreading soft moss and grasses around him as if to protect him from the elements.

Families of field mice had made homes under the cushions, their happy existence bringing joy to the heart of the old settee…