The Lot

Walking the dogs. Old converse sneakers, battered and fading, wearing thin at the heels and drooping at the soles,  faded from a brght crimson to a dull pink colour. Swishing through the drass, dew soaking throgh to her favourite pair of socks, well loved and filled with holes. But her gaze is not directed downwards, down, to the long, unmown grass and old peices of litter, but upwards, up to the grey sky, a swirling mass of colour and light, spattered with raindrops that fall on her face and hair, drenching her from head to toe. She looks down to watch the dogs, wandering around the lot, sniffing the bushes and playfuly nipping one and other, only stopping to turn when she gives them a shrill whistle of warning. Not warning to herself, but them, communicating the need to stay close. The lot. Large and abandoned, surrounded by a mass of overgrown bush and with long, uneven grass, that has been negected for goodness knows how long, it's the perfect place to take the dogs for the occasional bout of exploration. Mist seeps through the trees and swirls around her feet, snatching at her heels as she walks languidly across the lot. "It would be bautuiful here at night", she thinks, as she stares off into the distance.