You ignored my invitation,
All…winter…long,
My chair waited out in the snow.
“Nana what do you expect?” Gracie asked me once.
“I expect him to show up. Put his chair down across from mine and talk.”
“But…”
“Why does there have to be a but?” My argument was not with the sweet girl. You know that.
“Nana,” she said. “Make the first move, sit.”
The weathered chair still held me up.
A hundred daffodils shone their yellow suns, a robin sang its heart full, the promises of spring carried in the air.
You spoke and I knew I was wrong.
This story brought to you by the photo prompt from Rochellewissoff.com “Friday Fictioneers” Check out her blog and join the party.
Clare Graith 