Seeds scatter on the breeze, a storm of white. All that is left is the stem, clutched between her fingers.
She wonders how far the seeds will go. If they’ll just fall to the ground a few feet away or if the wind will catch them, bearing them off to unfamiliar skies.
She wonders if any of them will go as far as him.
“Home,” she whispers, an echo of her wish. “Come home.”
And in the sky, she sees the seeds still dancing on, carried out over the treetops and the roofs, out into the open expanse of blue.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Marie Gail Stratford for providing the prompt photo!