I found this very difficult, sometimes you have too much going through your head to make into a story. When I saw the picture I immediately thought of my grandad so this is ever so slightly autobiographical.
If you want to take part in Friday Fictioneers, visit Madison Woods to view the picture, write 100 words and post it back on her blog.
Last of the Summer Vines
It was the end of summer and the rain had been falling heavily for months. Jean and Bernie walked through the orchard as the thick grass tickled their bare ankles. It was a place the season had forgotten and now it belonged only to them. The apple tree their granddaughters used to climb cowered under the weight of the early crop, beneath it a rusting lawn roller surrounded by rotting fruit.
“How are the vines Bernie?”
“No harvest this year” he sighed, examining the intertwined branches.
She wrapped her arm around his “Ah well, cider it is this Christmas”