It was so ordinary, just four random bolts in the gutter. And yet it wasn't ordinary at all.


The postie passed as I was taking one photo. Wonder what she was thinking, as I was stooped down taking a shot of the gutter?
The 1st had no thread. The 2nd was shiny and new. The 3rd was a bit rusted but still had yellow paint on it. The last was just the shiny, silver flat head with the shank shorn completely off. The photo of that one is a bit odd because I was conscious of the postie approaching!


And then I fell to wondering what drama befell someone that day - or maybe even several days later - because that bolt chose to stop doing its job and fall into the gutter? Humans are wired for story and I can't help wondering what the story of each bolt is. How? Why? When? What happened next?
Since I can't seem to make a romance out of it, let alone a historical one, I can only hope I have now written them out of my mind! In fact, I hope they've 'bolted'!
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