Born in Kafachan, the only thing she knew how to do well was playing the harp. She took her music lessons seriously as a child.
Looking at the statue of the harp on the fence, she was fascinated. She drew close and ran her hands across the metal harp, she closed her eyes and she could remember home.
For weeks, in the big city all she had seen so far were the cars, gardens and tall buildings. None brought this longing to her heart. None made her miss home. Tears shimmered in her eyes. It was time, to go back home. It was time to stop being the rebel. The village would always remain in her heart.
© Deborah Glover, 2016
All rights reserved.
Photo credit: Sonya, 2008
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In response to Sonya three lines tales challenge week 7
Thanks Sonya for this beautiful photo.
You’ll find full guidelines on the TLT Page
Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt.
Link back to this post.
Tag your post with 3LineTales (so everyone can find you in the Reader).
Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
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Happy three-lining!
Booky Glover 
Any grandmother such as I would love this story. My little ones, return home. Home is so much more than a place.
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Glad you like it. Soon my siblings and I will fly the coop and my mother has said it missed often than not than not, she feels like a woman who has no child whenever we are away.
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Oh. There is really no place like home. And I am glad the harp remind it to her. 🙂 Heartfelt, Deb. ❤
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For those who had a home to go to though.
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