Morning light softened the old farmhouse standing warm and quiet in the distance as if holding its breath. Grandma had sent her outside, “Your mama needs quiet right now," she whispered, hurrying back into the house. So with plaid wool coat belted snuggly about her waist, Sarah gripped the handle of the old wooden garden cart, slowly collecting items from the newly cropped field: smooth stones, crow feathers, a crooked twig shaped like a wishbone and arranged them like treasures in her cart. Finnegan bound ahead, red coat gleaming in the growing light. She paused often, listening. Every breeze felt like a promise, every birdcall a celebration. The field hummed softly, the barns in the distance stood guard. Then, a faint newborn cry floated from the farmhouse, drifting across the field like music and her heart soared. This was the greatest treasure of all!
by Margaret Bednar, November 29, 2025
This is linked with "Sepia Saturday #803" I have written to one of my favorite Photos on Board I have in my collection - 144 words exactly.
Also linked with "Poets and Storytellers #205"
