Heathcliff Finally Meets His Match
written by: Liz
The barometer had been falling for days, stifling even small romantic gestures.
It was here: open moorland, where he wandered and thought aloud, undisturbed except for flashes of hare or distant curlew call.
She named him Heathcliff – naturally for his brooding manner, still misunderstood after all this time.
Yet he sought neither to correct nor command.
Her coarse, damp hair, landlocked by wild heather, readied for summer bilberry foraging.
Walking with him through the textured landscape, she filled his capacious heart with tales of a love so symmetrical, it burnt the sun.
I enjoy writing nonfiction articles, micro-fiction and poetry. I write about parenting, homelessness, civil rights and anything I feel strongly about.
Latest posts by Liz (see all)
- Heathcliff Finally Meets His Match - August 27, 2025
- Ragdoll - November 7, 2022
