Old Friends

The spring gurgled cheekily, making Hob smile as he dried his supper dishes. The warm glow from his kitchen window touched the thick green undergrowth, a contrast to the misty dusk filtering through the trees behind. He knew the chapel would be sharing its own glow across the pond, with Father Ziz at his prayers as usual.

It was a tiny chapel, not much bigger than Hob’s little house. Father Ziz had his tiny room at the back, warmed by a stove and a woodpile almost as large as the chapel itself. Father Ziz did joke about his old bones needing to be close to the fire to stay warm. And truth be told, the spry old cleric spent more time in Hob’s cozy study than in his own room.

Hob spared a glance at the clock over the mantle. Almost 8 already. And the tea kettle not even boiling! He bustled it onto the stove and set the teacups on the hearth. The worn pack of Old Froggy cards in the sofa table produced a chuckle; the Old Froggy was the spitting image of Father Ziz and he never failed to point it out.

There was a tap of wood on wood. Right on time! Hib’s tail twitched with pleasure all the way to answer the door.

Author: wordworkerrussell

I'm a homeschool mom of five, three girls and two boys. I'm a daughter of the King who works hard to keep her family living as close to God as we can. God created a world perfectly designed to provide everything we need, and designed us to reflect Him throughout it. Writing is my happy place. I have always loved stories and words because they express the human spirit so beautifully. A story can speak many messages, each received by the reader as needed or understood by individual experiences. I hope that my stories, both true and fantasy, speak to you in some way. View all posts by wordworkerrussell