“Lydia!” exclaimed Hugh, “Look at my old shoes.”
“They bring back memories of your work days,” Lydia smiled. “Up at dawn, back at dusk. You certainly wore them to death!”
They both laughed.
“Oh listen!” she cried, “Our song again.” Tchaikovsky’s – Sleeping Beauty wafted through the open windows into the room.
Without hesitation, Hugh took his wife’s hand. She pirouetted and made a bow. Together, they glided across the room; swaying and rocking, in tandem as Tchaikovsky serenaded them.
The door opened. The estate agent stepped in, mildly wondering how a draft could create a moving swirl of dust bunnies.

Copyright 2017- Vivian Zems

100 Words

Friday Fictioneers

Image by Sarah Potter