The Autumn Girl

Her autumn mornings always began with a strange ritual. She’d cup her hands, scoop some water from the washbowl and wash her face; then run her wet fingers through her silken hair until water dripped from every strand. Later, she’d gleefully walk out of the house and feel the cold misty air on her moist visage.

After her parents’ demise, she moved into a crumbling mansion with her aging Rottweiler and a precious family heirloom- an ornate longcase clock. Solitude comforted her soul. People called her a weirdo. But, she rejoiced in her own company and her funny little quirks.

Written for Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

 

23 thoughts on “The Autumn Girl

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