They Are Always There

On visiting the Maison Fournaise

Our boat slipped into the Seine at Argenteuil.

The sail billowed out, and we sliced the cobalt waters.

He passed a plastic flute of champagne into my hand.

“Five kilometers,” I said.

The sparkle hit my nose.

“Renoir’s lunchers?” he laughed. “They won’t be there.”

“Yes, they will,” I breathed.

Josie Elbiry, 2020

This story was inspired by the prompt “The Fickle Finger of Fate.” I picked up The Giving Tree, opened it with my eyes closed and punched the page with my finger. It landed on the word “Time”.

And so the story goes…