Most days, the twisting lane down to Hennigan’s farm lay silent. Only the rumble of Frank’s rusty tractor occasionally besmirched the rural hush. In summers though, desperately needed visitors would weave their way down the lane to buy the farm’s prize asset, Hennigan cider. There hadn’t been nearly enough visitors this summer, or last, and the farm was in trouble.
From her kitchen, Mary Hennigan peered out between autumn raindrops towards the barn. Frank’s Labrador had been barking, and now he’d started to howl. Buttoning up her raincoat, Mary set out for the barn, cursing both Frank and his stupid dog on the way.
The words above form my first Friday Fictioneers story of 2017.
Happy New Year to all my fellow FF’rs.