“All you have is this little wheelbarrow?”
Marsha nodded.
Shelly shook his head.
“I don’t mind how long it takes,” the despair in Martha’s voice was overshadowed by determination. “And anyway, this won’t be too heavy.”
Shelly shrugged. “You’d change your mind after you make a few trips pushing this rusty thing uphill against the wind.”
In the weeks that followed Marsha wondered more than once if her brother had conjured the wind just to spite her. Dust and grit found purchase in her eyes and throat. Her palms grew red, then raw, then rough.
And still, she pushed the loaded wheelbarrow through gravel and scrub brush and small canyons of cracked earth that manifested overnight upon the path she forged across the steppe.
Slowly the grave-marker took shape.
“I’ve brought the stones from our creek, Mama,” she whispered as she placed each carefully. “Your heart will never again thirst.”
For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Na'ama Yehuda 
Against all odds, she succeeded. I imagine Mama was watching over her.
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I imagine she was … or at the very least that Marsha believed so … 🙂
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The things we do to honour those we love…
Beautiful, Na’ama.
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Thank you, dear friend! 🙂
Here’s to love, and hearts. Of all the good kinds.
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Cheers to that!
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Cheers!!! 🙂
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🙂
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That was unexpected and beautiful. A rough life, yet still full of love and compassion.
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Thank you! Glad you liked it! Yes, rough life does not need to mean lack of love. Sometimes one makes lemonade.
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Aw, that fetches tears. Wow, well done
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🙂 Thank you, my friend! 🙂 I’m glad it spoke to you! Great photo, as usual!
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Thank you 🙂
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