PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
Friday Fictioneers ~Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Frost on summer things, in fall attire, near the stone slab half-wonky in its seat. A culmination of all things seasonal, and the end of all seasons wrapped up in one small space at the edge of the farm. When we were kids we were forbidden to go there, which is why we spent time there. Gone now, like the leaves browning at my feet in mulched memories.
Grown, I find the tilted stone oddly balanced with the rest of the ornamental structures on the back of the field, near the fence- where we all tip-toed across imaginary lines purposefully.
(stretching my arm out - knowing that this is not the best, but it is something, which is better than nothing most days).