Daddy

I'm back to Saturday Centus after missing last week due to brain drain. It's a great creative exercise, so please click on the link below to join the fun.

This week's prompt is in italics.




It’s true, the smell of freshly mowed grass can stay with you for years, for decades, settle into your core. When I was little, my daddy cut the grass with a hand-push mower, the clippings flying up behind the primative machine, leaving a bordered trail where the grass had been.

These days I need only to look at my daddy’s picture - even the one in his Navy uniform - to be overcome with the perfume of freshly cut grass.

And when I am out walking or riding in my car and smell grass being cut, I see my daddy’s face.


This story if linked to Saturday Centus. Button on the left!