The sun-bleached photograph above the fireplace trembled – a gentle reminder to Isabelle that the bus bringing her son home had entered the village.
As she waited expectantly by the gate, the rusting red tractor of Monsieur Roget thundered past her cottage. The cheery farmer doffed his chequered cap and smiled, as he did every morning. Behind him the street lay empty: it seemed there would be no bus today.
‘Maybe tomorrow,’ thought Isabelle.
Back inside she continued to ready for her son’s return – she missed him so. Arnaud hadn’t been home since leaving for the front; Isabelle couldn’t remember exactly how long ago that was.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.