It had rained earlier and the ground was moist and cold.
Sitting cross legged, I felt the mounting dampness through the seat of my jeans but ignored the uncomfortable sensations.
I concentrated instead on the scrunched ball of paper cradled in my hands, and practiced throwing it into the waste basket a few metres in front of me.
Distracted by some fluffy white clouds I breathed in the afternoon and, eyes closed, listened attentively to my heart.
Smoothing out your photo as well as I could, I slipped it back into my breast pocket and headed back to you. (99 words)
Yes I’m back from South America and pleased to be back to writing again. I missed it.
This is my entry to Friday Fictioneers and thank Rochelle Wisoff-Fields once again for organising and curating this wonderful weekly challenge.