Within the tall grass
we scamper. A ruse of sorts.
We long to be found.
17 syllables of fun.
Copyright – Sarah Ann Hall
“8, 9, 10…ready or not here I come!”
Milo’s legs pumped and his chest heaved as he ran through the field, his eyes locked on the old smoke stacks. Skidding to a stop he plopped down into what he knew was the perfect hiding spot for a five year old even as the tall grass scratched his already bruised legs and tickled his nose.
From a distance he heard the squeals and high pitched giggles as one by one, his friends were revealed. His tummy clenched as the voices calling his name got farther and farther away.
“I’m right here…” he whispered to himself.
100 words based on the picture above, with one of my favorite communities.
I try to have my Haiku compliment the story.
Thanks Rochelle, for letting me WRITE ON with all of you.
Happy Weekend, Happy Writing.