Photo prompt: © J Hardy Carroll
She always loved that skylight. The one thing she’d insisted on when they’d rebuilt the old farmstead. Every day since, the sun streamed in or the rain puttered on or clouds swam above, transforming the indoors into a moving tapestry.
They’d kept the bones of the building, but the roof had been rotten. It needed redoing.
Like her bones.
She lay on the flagstone floors, sauce dripping onto her from where she must have upset the pot as she’d slipped and fell and something in her broke.
The skylight her only companion. The light fading. The day still long.