Moniasonu Sonumonia

The buzzing drier impatiently announced the end of its cycle. Rosalie Wren slumped on the laundry room floor, her limbs weak and shaky. The washing machine thumped and vibrated in its spin cycle as she withdrew her hand from the waistband of her sweatpants and wiped it on the pile of dirty clothes waiting their turn to be washed. She was alone.As much as she had hoped otherwise, the kitchen sink was still full of last night’s dishes. She sighed and swished a soapy rag around a tea glass as the hum of a mower came to life on the other side of the kitchen window. The lawn service had arrived.She’d never known the youth’s name, though he’d been cutting their lawn for years now. In her mind he was just Lawn Boy, although hardly a boy anymore. Over the years Rosalie had watched him develop from a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid to a 6’3”, 175 pound mountain of athletic muscle. He was a blond, big-shouldered, bronzed Adonis with sky blue eyes, and an incandescent smile. Every week when he was. " She could not help smiling though. She was glad that her sister had not let her sleep too late. She wanted to roam around in the woods some more, and now would have more time to do it. If she hurried, she would be able to catch some of the animals who only came out at night before they slept for the day. Janet placed a plate of eggs and pancakes in front of her, and as she began to eat, she noticed that she was feeling better already.Mike Mill tried to relax as he flew at a height of thirty thousand feet above the sun-drenched fields of the mid-west. It had been years since he had been on an airplane, and he had forgotten how peaceful and restful it was, but since it had been so long, he had also forgotten the problems that can arise at an airport. The lines, the pushing, the shoving... he was glad that he had left most of that behind for the harder yet simpler work of teaching migratory farmers. When he had gotten his sister's letter, telling him that her husband had died, he had.
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