Published July 19, 2012 by rochellewisoff

A week’s vacation has afforded me more writing time than usual. Even though it’s only Thursday I deem my Friday Fictioneers story ready for viewing. 98 words if you’re counting.

Savage heat devoured the crops. My hopes for new shoes, satin and lace shriveled with the corn and beans in Daddy’s field.

Mama inspected brittle vines along the fence. “No jelly makin’ this year, Della-Mae.”

Under the feral sun, on withered ground, she smoothed spotless bed-sheets. Then she strewed them with tiny grapes.

In September I pledged my troth in Mama’s yellowed gown. Her slippers were half again too small so I walked the aisle barefoot.

Thirty-nine years later, as we did on our wedding day, Rueben and I celebrate our devotion with grapevine bouquets and raisin wine.

50 comments on “BITTERSWEET

  • I commented earlier, and then went out on a 20 mile bike ride. I was thinking about this all through the ride. So I wanted to come back and say this is one of the best flash fiction posts I have ever read. — bw


  • Beautiful – it reminds me of a song called In a Country Churchyard by Chris de Burgh and I love the idea of a barefoot wedding too – love knows no bounds when it's no longer bound by the pagentry of the occasion :-)


  • Wow, really well done. I love the romance and acceptance you've incorporated into this story. Sadly, you've pretty much nailed the current situation of today's fruit farmers. Excellent job!


  • Dear Rochelle,You paint a beautiful picture with concise brush strokes full of color and life. A life well lived all woven from Summer's heat and shadowed vines. Good vintage this week!Thank you for visiting mine and leaving such a nice comment. I very much appreciate it coming from you.Aloha,Doug


  • She wanted the pretty life (satin and lace) but seems happy enough with what she ended up with (grape vines and bare feet). I too enjoyed "feral sun"…it is what much of the country is experiencing these days (including the resultant ruined crops).~Susan (


  • Nicely told. I liked "pledged my troth"—it sounded very southe'n to me.😀 Happy the marriage lasted, too. ;)The only thing that raised my eyebrows (beyond raisin wine which I had to Google) was the spotless bed-sheets. Initially, it seemed like this was a yearly tradition (because of the mention of jelly makin') and I couldn't understand why they wouldn't have sheets specific to this purpose (and therefore stained). It was only after I re-read it and realized that they probably didn't make raisins or raisin wine every year that my eyebrows went down.Thanks for your comment on mine!


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