Mr. Misra sat on the porch and watered his flowers.
He lived just off Main Street, in the yellow house with the flowers out front. He hadn’t lived there long. There were always new owners in the yellow house.
They showed up, full of personality and energy, introducing themselves to all their neighbours. There was a lot of shaking of hands and exchanging of gifts and invitations to parties.
Then they would go quiet, sitting on their porch in the midsummer days. By the time fall hit, they were just glimpses through the curtains, shadows that would fade by Christmas, replaced a few months later by new owners with fresh faces and fresh smiles.
The flowers always remained.
Mr. Mishra watered his flowers and watched the first golden leaves fall from the branches of the trees.
Word Count: 136
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and shivamt25 for providing the prompt photo!