This 97 word story is for the Friday Fictioneers prompt.
PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
She sat by the door though the wind had risen, tearing the leaves, yellow and dry, from the trees. She had waited since the first crocuses flowered in spring, and the air turned mild and warm. He had said he would be back with the roses, so she waited through the summer while the blackbirds sang and the trees spread shady branches. She waited as the first berries grew red in the hedge and the geese flew south. She waited until the last petals fell on the last rose, and she closed the door to her heart.