Where Echoes Fade

Dangling from a single hinge, the worn gate clung to the weathered fence. It wobbled as he lifted it off the ground and pushed it open. The rambling stone path was buried beneath a tangle of thorny brambles and overgrown rose branches. A faded shadow of the beauty it once was, the garden greeted him once again.

He tripped over thick vines and dead leaves crunched beneath his feet as he made his way to the front door. The old wood creaked and groaned, dust filled cobwebs ripped apart as he forced it open and stepped inside.

The scent of his grandmother's bread filled his memory. Her glowing smile and eastern european accent flashed through his mind. Remembering how they would start the day scattering crumbs outside for the wild birds. He loved watching them flutter around, chirping morning songs as they waited for their breakfast.

On a dust laden table sat a newspaper dated 1969; the year she passed. In her cursive was a note that said, I knew you would come home

“Blue Poppy” by Rachel Tribble

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