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Weekly Contest #309
The porch creaks softly as I step outside, the sky painted purple and deep blue. The light from the setting sun casts a soft glow on the house. Grandpa Callum sits on his favourite rocking chair, his gaze fixed out on the horizon where the wildflower field lay. His eyes are sad and haunted, burdened by a memory he never let go. “It’s midsummer again,” he says quietly, voice thick with memories. I settle down beside him and take his old, weathered hand in mine. The scent of wildflowers carries across the field, wrapping us in their sweet smel...
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