umbrellawoman
My father's study had always been a favourite place of mine. When I was little I would spend hours in there, memorized by the volumes of heavy books, the withered maps that hung upon the walls and the faint scent of cigars. But the desk had always been my favourite object in the room. Carved out of deep mahogany, strong and sturdy yet elegant. Subconsciously I think it reminded me of my father.
The camera flashed, capturing the moment that would be treasured a lifetime. The bride and groom beamed, a piece of their love and happiness seized, forever to be looked back on.
The tree was scared. Jacob had known this for a long time. When his father had been alive, he had tended to the tree with the utmost care.