Time to Go Home #17

She stands at the edge of the playground as the sun begins to dip low, casting long golden shadows across the grass. The swing she’d just been on still sways a little. Her backpack feels heavy now—not just with books, but with the weight of a day lived fully. A scrape on her knee, a note from a friend tucked into her pocket, dirt under her fingernails from some wild, important adventure she won’t tell anyone about. The sky is turning the color of peach and lavender. A breeze tugs at the hem of her shirt. Somewhere in the distance, she hears the familiar voice—Mom or Dad, calling her name. It’s not stern, not rushed—just warm. A sound that means soup’s on, pajamas are waiting, and maybe someone saved the last cookie. She picks up her things, gives one last look to the sandbox, and runs toward that voice. It’s time to go home. Bud Haslett: FOMO-FUD April 2025 Image from NightCafe - Flux / Preset: Matte Words from ChatGPT-4.0