Ghosts and Butterflies #writephoto (188 words)

She found the photograph in grandma’s chest. It was faded, peeling at the edges, and Beth held it as carefully as if it were a butterfly’s wing.

It was a wide, flowering field, the mysterious standing stones conjuring curiosity as well as calm. Grandma’s people had immigrated from Scotland, and Beth wondered if this was a picture of one of the sights her grandmother had seen in her childhood or if this, too, had been passed on from an older time.

“What’s that?”

Beth looked around at her husband’s voice. She smiled at John, holding out the picture. She couldn’t disguise the tears in her eyes. “I found it in Grandma’s things.”

He looked at the picture. His dark brows were concentrated. “Aren’t stones like that supposed to be haunted?”

“Haunted?” Beth laughed. “You don’t believe in ghosts, John?”

“Every cowboy believes in ghosts,” her husband said seriously. He tapped the picture lightly with his forefinger. “I’d like to take you there someday.”

Beth smiled at him. “You’d face ghosts for me? A dusty cowboy like you?”

He kissed her cheek. “For you, my darlin’, I’d face anything.”


Written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt. Her images are amazing and I honestly wish I had a calendar!

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