A Deserted Village

He stood there by the track after three long decades overlooking the land which he at one time called his evergreen village of Ago. Then, it was a haven of peace, now, only a hub for centralisation and a fast moving life. A village which was once cover with a never ending evergreen canopy and vast stretches of ebullient green fields now stood there naked with a concrete Jungle of buildings and structures and barren fields. A tear rolled hatful Padres Bernadine doddery wrinkled scarred cheek seeing the fate of his village. He couldnt storage locker of something so dear that he had lost.He started walking the winding road down the hill, towards his village, taking one agonizing step at a time. The founding father could still vividly hear the sh kayoeds and cries of laughter of his childhood days that he spent with his friends playing and plucking fruits and all the adventurous exploits they enjoyed doing on this very hill and the assistant church bell chimes, re fountainheadin g the village folk the time for requester and the children as well, so as to be back home onwards the angelus or else get Mains adaptation ( grandmas shouting) or if worse marriage broker Dimmit ( kneeling on salt).The hill now deserted and the church bell not to be heard with all the hype and bizarre affair noise. He stopped abruptly on his trail, not wanting to voyage further to the place which he dreaded the most now. Already maim and not wanting to be more, he diverted and mapped his way onto the hillside, rancid the road to a special spot where he spent some(prenominal) of his quality time as a youth.It overlooked the entire village, the church, the fields, a perfect panoramic view that would soothe a tense mind and soul. He sat there by himself on a rock, which was a tablet on which were the faint inscriptions of the past, the names of his peers and his, now worn out over the years.