Here is the photograph and my story:
As usuual, we were sitting at the bay window each in our comfy winged back chair. Below, at ground level, workmen were hauling away December’s Christmas tree. Dead needles laid a path before and behind them. It was King’s Day.
“What do you want to discuss today?” he asked.
“I remember one year, I was 6, pitching a fit when Mom started taking the tree down on King’s Day.” I smiled and glanced his way. “That was the last Christmas I believed in Santa Claus.”
He nodded. That was his job. To listen and nod and repeat my words back to me.
“I cried for a real long time that day. Probably because I was letting go of Santa Claus.” I reached for a tissue. “When I stopped crying, Mom and I made a King Cake. After it was baked, we tucked in the porcelain baby.” I smiled again. “My brother chipped his tooth on the baby.”
(This week’s photo prompt is provided by Shivangi Singh. Thank you Shivangi for our photo prompt!)