It was my last year as a homeschool mom.
The sweetgum showered red-gold leaves, the bees buzzed lazy tunes,
and my youngest teenager read aloud from Tolkien.
It was a memory moment—the kind meant for savoring.
Today was the same kind of day, but I didn't get to read in the backyard.
I hope you did, though.
I took this photo of a pair of glasses I found at a sale.
Purchased for a few quarters, they sold again for much more.
My writing fund appreciated the small contribution.
So, here's a bit of flash fiction inspired by these seen-better-days specs.
"Where are my glasses?" Craig ran his hand up his forehead then back down, mashing his nose flat. "Every time I lay them down, they go missing." He flopped into his armchair and a slight veil of dust puffed into the afternoon sun and floated toward thick window panes.
Janice handed him the newspaper. "You had them in the church this morning, didn't you? Then you stopped at the Danaher's on the way home ..." She glanced up at him from her own reading, hoping for a clue. Craig had gone still at the mention of the Danaher home, the crazed epicenter of the once-quiet village. "Did you have a chance to talk with—"
"No." Craig shot up from his chair and the newspaper fell to the floor, unnoticed. "I remember now. They are at the church." At the door, he grabbed his hat from the hook and pulled it low on his forehead. "You're right, Janice," he said. "You're always right."