The sun rose over the meadow, painting the horizon in crimson and gold.
Leaning on the fence, Reuben watched, as he had every day for fifty years. He should have been overseeing his small flock, sold last year when there was no money left to keep them. He’d had to sell his handful of acres too.
With a roar heavy plant began tearing up his old meadow. A luxury development the sign said.
Sighing, Reuben headed home.
Thank goodness he’d sold with planning permission. Maybe, after he got back from the cruise, he’d put a jacuzzi in his refurbished cottage…