Photo prompt: Dale Rogerson
Finally.
They sent the younger children on their way. They cleaned up after breakfast. Hung the wash. Made the bed. Picked up after the husband, the father in law, the older sons (who in almost all cases were sprawled, asleep, with an empty plate of this or that by their side, as boys of certain ages seem to be).
The market waited. And the dinner to start. But for the next hour, there was just them. Their gossip. Their shared stories of the minutia of struggles and laughter.
It was their sanity’s lifeline, midday at Juanita’s “Whale Of A Time.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
