PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields
He stood gazing across the land that unrolled to the far mountains. His long black hair, secured by the band around his head, blew in the gentle breeze that tugged and pulled at him. He inhaled slowly, savoring the scents that rose from the ground, the underbrush, the trees.
In his mind, he replayed the stories of his ancestors as they lived and died in this same land. So much joy, so much pain, so much lying, so much death.
A single tear tracked his lined cheek.
Time to go home. Back to the reservation.
(I hope you won’t mind if I leave Zing and Zang waiting in the sidelines now and then. This picture was so evocative, partly because of a book I’m reading, that the story insisted on being written. Zing and Zang, with Zinnia, will return when the photo prompt doesn’t take my heart and mind in a totally different direction.)