In under the wire ...

Photo Seven (Bernard)

She remembers the day the photo was taken. Hugh had been so proud of his new camera, as eager to show off his new toy as he was to show off his son. He was appalled at Bernard’s heartsick expression, but she didn’t blame the child. She was an interloper. A pathetic substitute.

He’s never called her anything but Ruth. She doesn’t mind. She wishes him well, makes his meals, irons his clothes, but it’s his father she loves.

His father, who has, unthinkably, died and left them both. She thinks she understands now what the words “alone together” mean.

Oh, Amy, that's just heartbreaking. Poor little Bernard, poor Ruth.

It sounds like we share a husband, connie. Only mine also comes at me from the other direction on occasion.

"Why are you snarling at the internets?" he asks. "Because I can't find a full floor plan of the house I'm using as a regimental headquarters, only the section that's open to the public now--it's one of those British things where the family still lives in part of the house." "So?" "So! I need to know where the servants' quarters was!" "Why?" "Because that's where they're keeping my protagonist prisoner. I need to know if he's in a garret or a basement." "Just pick one." "Pick one!? What if I get it wrong and someone who knows better reads the book?"

And then he comes up with helpful plans for all my story problems and all the subplots he thinks I need to include.

Yeah, I saw that kid's face and thought, oh, there's definitely a story there.

I was looking for something a little on the supernatural side, but the muse is being muy fickle right now.

Wow, Amy, that's powerful.

Thanks, Susan!

The photos challenge is now closed. This week's challenge is green .

Nice one, Amy. That photo would have been my next one if I had more time.

I finally catch up on this thread and you have one I can't resist.

Go Green!

You know you are my favorite, but do you know why? You are the delicate new leaves on trees and the tips of tulips breaking through the brown earth that signal the end of a long cold winter. You are bright silly shamrocks that accompany the celebration of my heritage. You are the rolling fields of grass or crops that relax my green eyes after they spend too long focused on the near. You are tasty spinach with pears and pistachios. And just when I thought I couldn’t love you more, you are now a movement to better our earth!

I love Laura. That is all.