#MusicMonday: John Farnham "You're the Voice"

Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt

~~~It's time for Tuesday Tales~~~

We're having a picture prompt this week and whichever way I turned, I wasn't able to fit it into my baseball story, so I give that story a break this week.

The story today is another one close to my heart. I thought I had posted a little teaser before, but I cannot find the link. My apologies!

This is roughly the second paragraph in the story of Sadie who's found her Grandmother's diary shortly after her mother's passing - and so begins her journey, not also back in time, but also to a different continent.

 

Enjoy - and feel free to leave a comment. And don't forget to click the link below to go back to the main Tuesday Tale site for more stories by very talented authors.

Anyway, my name is Sadie. Yes, please spare me the old John Farnham tune, I’ve had it most of my life. Oh, don’t get me wrong, nothing bad about John Farnham, after all, he’s “The Voice”, right? But the Sadie comment does get a bit tiring! Sadly, mum died a few weeks back and now I’m stuck on this massive airplane en route to Frankfurt with Grandma’s diary in my bag. It’s kind of weird snooping in Grandma’s deepest thoughts and feelings, but in a way it’s fascinating going back in history. But not only going back in history, but also to a different continent. See, Mum was born in Germany, but left in her twenties and came to Australia. Quite a journey those days, and she’d told me a lot about it. Kind of scary actually to just leave everything behind. I mean, after all there was no internet or the chance to quickly call home to say Hey everyone I’ve arrived and settled in this super tiny town of Beauty Creek. No, those days you had to write the old fashioned letters and wait a couple of months for a reply.   Yes, Beauty Creek in Tasmania is the place I was born and grew up. The name says it all, beautiful scenery along a small creek. And mum always said it very much reminded her of her home in Germany. The forest there is full of deciduous trees with their leaves falling in autumn in herald of the coming winter. I loved walking along the path through the forest with mum, gazing at the leaves above which had changed their colour from green to a burning red or dying yellow, or down on the ground, crackling under our feet. However, the creepiest part was, when mum tried to make the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. I really miss her.

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