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fancy a cuppa


One of those afternoons. Her spine is bent, her legs lifted up, resting on the railing.
The clothes on the line are dry and waiting, but not impatient; white towels hang like flags of surrender. Beneath them, the grass is long, escaping the lawn and plundering into the pebbled garden beds. Somewhere a dog barks and the broom leaning against the back wall falls to lie uselessly across the timber boards. She takes a spoonful of honey and it slinks into the cup, softens slowly in hot water. As she stirs the metal chink-chinks against the porcelain.
She breathes out, is satisfied.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday tale.

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