Late with Sonya’s photo prompt this week.
photo by Brian Gaid via Unsplash
She kept her eyes fixed very firmly on the shamrock that winked at her from the wing tip.
They had all promised they would go back, two generations of them, and none had ever scraped together enough money for more than a quick visit, a love you and goodbye again, then back to the land of work and jobs and a scratched living.
They had all died with their faces turned into the sunset, their eyes full of tears, foreigners in a foreign land, but she would carry their longings with her—she was going home.