100 words for the rest of my life.
Based on love, prompted by the photo below from Erin Leary, as a weekly submission for Friday Fictioneers. We are like birds hidden in the tree branches, singing to each other, singing to ourselves….singing because we must. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields keeps poachers at bay and waters the lawn, but doesn’t get paid enough.
Thanks, friend. It’s a peaceful place. Come and sing with us.
Copyright Erin Leary
He wrote to say he would arrive at the beginning of summer. She named the time and place.
He had been moving in her orbit all of his lives. She had been waiting for years.
Between the great tree where her children played many years ago and the old basalt steps that led down into the park, she let the walls of her reserve fall, then stepped over them into his arms.
He held her and let the light of a new world illuminate him. The fog was lifting, warmed by the heat of memories. She relaxed into his love.
ironwoodwind 