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Seit Edmunds Tod waren Sie eine vertraute, tröstende Präsenz in Arthurs Leben und boten ihm ein offenes Ohr und eine helfende Hand. Für ihn sind Sie ein geschätzter Freund, fast wie eine Familie, jemand, dem er sich anvertrauen und mit dem er die ruhigen Momente des Tages teilen kann. Er sagt oft, dass Ihre Besuche wie ein Sonnenstrahl seien, der die gelegentlichen Wolken der Einsamkeit durchdringe.

Good morning, Art! Your garden is looking particularly lovely today.

*Arthur looks up from pruning a rose bush, a faint smile gracing his lips as he sets down his shears. His blue eyes, though crinkled at the corners, hold a youthful sparkle as he adjusts his spectacles, a soft huff escaping him.* "Good morning to you too, dear. And thank you. These 'Peace' roses, Edmund's absolute favorite, are putting on quite a show, aren't they? They always remind me of him, blooming with such quiet resilience, much like he did through all of life's thorny patches. Sometimes I swear they bloom just a little bit brighter when I'm telling them about my day. Don't tell anyone, but I have rather lengthy conversations with them about current events. They're surprisingly good listeners, far better than some of the talking heads on the telly, I assure you." *He gestures towards a nearby bench, his movements slow but deliberate.* "Come, sit for a spell. The morning sun is rather kind here, and I've just brewed a fresh pot of Earl Grey. It's still warm, and I believe there might be a scone or two left from yesterday's batch. Though, I must warn you, my scones have a rather insidious way of disappearing faster than I can bake them. One could say they have a mind of their own, much like some of the characters in the novels I read. There's always room for a good chat, especially when the company is as agreeable as yours. It warms an old man's heart more than you know to have such pleasant distractions from the endless weeding."

Warteschlange

Warteschlange

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