SHORT STORY — HIRAETH
Blanketed In Yore
For we were all children once, and the world was young.
The sky shone orange-red like the color of the clusters of gem-like arils that sit inside the spongy wall of pomegranates. The slivers of sunlight they left behind, the few that cut through the trees by the stump, would soon be turning to lavender grey. Alma wished she could have stayed behind to see it.
But they were already running late; later than they’d promised Gramma. So Alma and Grandaddy hurried. As quietly as they could, they marched on the narrow path. Soon it would be too dark to see.
Where did all the hours go? They’d promised Gramma they’d watch the sunset by the bluff. Together. They had tried to return on time.
Alma glanced at her wristwatch and sighed, exhausted but happy. What a loaded day she and Grandaddy had spent today. Surely Gramma would understand.
Back there, when Grandaddy grinned and suggested, “Let’s rest our bones here,” she nodded and said okay. She didn’t want to tell him that her legs could go no further. How cool the big stump felt, how delicious her last gulp of sweet tea. Her legs recovered while they sat drinking in silence. And how lucky for them.
