It hadn’t been much of a home, had it?
I mean a tent with a tiny storage box was only supposed to serve a few days. But for them it was home for years.
His mothers lovely rhyme as she tucked him into his sleeping bag echoed through his mind;
Down in the meadow,
Just right in the hollow,
the cornerstone of his mother’s life.
Someday we’ll give him a home
not of fabrics but bricks.
With love as a master and hope for a mistress.
Standing on the porch he smiled at the meadow.
Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Jan Wayne Fields the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.