Suitcase at his feet, and nothing but a pond to walk around. But this seemed like the longest leg of the thousand mile journey home. He pulled a bud from the branch, and cracked it open under his nose. wiped his sticky fingers on his wrinkled trousers and stayed still.
Nothing had changed, except the tire swing had come down sometime in the years he’d been gone.
“There is the other one thing changed,” he said, quietly,
One of the curtains moved in the house, and he knew he’d been spotted. But he remained where he was, screwing his courage.
Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent’s #writephoto