Samuel put down his tools and looked around at the potting shed. His wife had been after him to fix it but he could never spare the time, or if truth be told, he had never made the time. When he had finally stepped into the dilapidated shed he well understood the reason for her consternation.
It took a while, but he had done it – woodwork fixed, table polished and everything cleaned. She would be pleased with her shed now.
Carefully he rested her urn on the table, exactly where the first rays of the sun could caress her. Somehow he knew she would be happier here than on any mantle place.
In response to Friday Fictioneers’ challenge of 9th June 2017 based ona photo by Sarah Potter