Weary

   The kitchen was like a rumbling tornado. Steam spewed out of kettles over the fire. Their contents exploded droplets of gravy, brown and thick. Building to crescendo, the last steps to bringing the meal for twenty to the table were almost over. 

Acrylic on board by Marcus Fellbaum

    In the epicenter of the tumult, Susannah bowed her head. A great calm fell over her shoulders like a cloak. Her breathing slowed.  Her mind rested on a distant scene, on a hill where thousands came to be fed. She searched for the source of the miracle. Up the hill amongst the crowd sat "the one". Her heart settled next to him, leaning on his strength. A long sigh escaped her lips.


This is a post that is part of a series entitled, "Pictures and Paragraphs". See an index of these posts here.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.