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Take these flowers to your mother.She ran. Catching the grass beneath her dress, mindless of the thorns and burrs riding along her legs. Her father's instructions were clear.
She passed the market. The blurry sea of smiling faces parted for her. Everyone knew what day it was when she was running.
The steps were long and cold. The road grew hot and dusty. She reached the slender willow, panting, leaning against its shaded embrace and letting her breath catch up.
Mother was waiting for her. Open arms, stone and cold like the earth. Her smiling face reflected the setting sun and she took the flowers, held them to her name and cried with the coming rain. Papa would be glad.
Though he couldn't bear to see the numbers on Mama's face, he never forgot what day it was.
One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.