Photo prompt: © Jeff Arnold
She always saw the half-full of the cup. He always saw the empty.
She saw the rain’s potential. The green to manifest. The flowers. He saw mud and wet and ruinous showers.
She saw the sun and warmth. He saw the cancer.
She pointed out the good. He, the plausible con-men in every alley.
She laughed. He frowned.
She hugged babies and puppies, while he kept both at warning distance.
“We’re like the rainbow,” she explained, when others wondered how she kept sane in the face of constant pessimism. “Our perspectives of mist and light blend a full spectrum’s beauty.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Na'ama Yehuda 
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