I never throw rose petals away, even after the flowers have wilted. The extracted goodness of the petals goes into my skincare regime, and the softness lives on. The ones I immersed in water today started bleeding purple. It was the artificial color sprayed on the petals by the florist. The rose stem looked askance … Continue reading Appreciation
The intensity of this blew me off…
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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
ABIGAIL’S ROSE
Weary from tending her feverish child, she sank into her rocking chair. The baby, who had howled with pain most of the night, finally calmed. Abigail Adams caressed her daughter’s silky head and kissed her cool cheek.
“Sleep, now, my sweet Suky.”
Suky’s four-year-old sister tiptoed into the room. Abigail stopped rocking and held out a hand to her. “Can you not sleep, Nabby?”
“I dreamt the angels plucked a rose from our garden.” Nabby patted the baby’s back. “Is she feeling better…
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