Amby

Amby stands beneath the willow, the sunrise spilling gold across the lake and catching in her ginger hair, now tied back in a loose ponytail. Her oversized jumper hangs softly from her shoulders, sleeves pushed up, the knit pale against the warm light. She looks mesmerised, lost in the quiet rhythm of the morning, as if the world itself has become a poem she’s reading without words. The mist drifts low over the water, and she doesn’t move — only breathes, her gaze fixed on the horizon, unaware of how extraordinary she looks in that stillness.