Squeak, squeak. The porch swing sways gently back and forth as my legs dangle to and fro. The evening breeze is cool as the sun sets on the ridge above the pasture.
The horses graze peacefully, stopping occasionally to look up in my direction, as if to say, "hey mom, is it feeding time yet?" Then Resume munching the small blades of sweet spring grass.
I sip my glass of Cabernet and take a long draw from my cigarette.
Closing my eyes, I exhale slowly and take in all that surrounds me. Peace- tranquility- a quiet stillness in the moment.
Behind me, the tree frogs enter into a chorus of song around the pond. A lone bullfrog bellows adding his bass voice to the choir.
Suddenly they stop.
All is eerily silent.
A coyote howls in the distance and the choir begins again.
No more am I burdened with the mistakes of my past. No more am I consumed with what could have been or should have been.
The past is just that...the past. Gone forever.
This is where I am supposed to be.
I am home.
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (3 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
A Gypsy Heart
- #2424 Posted 6 years ago
This is beautiful peace that suggests a tumultuous past. I was entranced and had to prequel.
- #2673 Posted 5 years ago
- 5 out of 5
Author's prompt text:
- Published 6 years ago and featured 5 years ago.
- Story viewed 20 times and rated 1 times.
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There's no place like home -- and that's not just a cliche.