The fifteenth of December

December 15, 2011 at 6:40 am ·

His friends knew him as Nathaniel; his grandchildren, as Papa. To most he was the man who herded the trees. His fame spread far beyond the village – it was not uncommon for him to return from the pastures, heavy-booted, to find tourists sobbing at his garden gate. Bone tired he may have been, but he brewed them wordless tea in chipped china cups. He was that sort of man.

He never wept as he rushed the herd down the valley for the yearly cull, but everybody knew it moved him to see his wards honoured with lights and bright baubles.


This story comes from a great blog written by Laura in London who says: “I write short stories on public transport. I will post 1,000 of them online. Then I will probably stop.”
It is well worth a look and read <a href=””&gt;here</a>