Tabitha’s days seemed long. They sunk into gray even when the sun was high. She wished to be youthful again — carefree — and remembered life was once simple.
Her 9 to 5 was a job indeed; she disliked toiling just to live. Something, or someone perhaps, though, tugged at her coat. Several times she spun around to see who it was and found no one.
Sitting on a low wall next to a flowerbed she felt all right, nonetheless, and surveyed the vibrant amethyst blooms. Without thinking, she reached out and plucked a flower that reminded her even more of her childhood.
Then, a teeny hand grew out of the flourishing border and took the blossom. Had she imagined it? She wasn’t certain, but her innocent delight returned in an instant.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved.