Cutting

The garden was a mess. Summer's blossom had diluted from fresh to fading and the lemming leaves were falling, spiralling to lie curling on the ground.

It was time to hack back.

One shrub was a later bloomer; a single red flower, standing sentinel at the end of a branch.

"Leave the shrub by the bird feeders!" she shouted after him.

To him, it was overgrown, hitting, not brushing his face as he went to the shed.

*

He was pleased with the pile of wilting, brown limbs. A small flourish of red was visible.

"What d'ya think?"

She daren't say.

***

100 words exactly

Another Drabble today, what John Cox would call one of my "slices of life".

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

243/366

Wrong number. I don't know how to count. What day is it again?