100 Word Story: Sweeping

This time the broom was right where she’d left it, leaning against the railing on the back porch. But the day before, it was leaning on a far tree trunk and before that it was lying on the top of her car.

The broom takes flight in the night, she thought, then caught herself at how crazy that sounded.

Did it walk on its thin straw legs? Slither around the yard in the dark like a snake searching for a sleeping rabbit?

Her mother told her that objects breathed in the life around them. Her broom knew her so well.

__________________

Photo by Jane Slack-Smith on Unsplash