He comes around, amidst the orange fields, with a sly smile veiled under his head gear.
His dark visor, reflecting my dead past- the orange rutted track mixed with deep red.
The present from justice- father’s breaths locked forever and he’s free, riding evermore recklessly.
This post was written in response to Three Line Tales 238. I thank Sonya for hosting this challenge. The challenge was to write three line tale inspired from the picture.
©Aashi D Parekh