What remains is mortared stone and the wood-framed window where I sat sighing at the colored prairie, longing for some glimpse of Elizabeth—her hat’s weathered brim telling hard times she rarely spoke of. The old Chestnut finally arrived. Only now do I dare wander that purple expanse, seeking some evidence of my poor love.
© Ami Mattison
Flash Fiction 55 for One Stop Poetry's Picture Prompt Challenge.
Photo courtesy of Sean McCormick