The battered blue bowl sits empty by the well-loved green bottle of oil. The burning orange canister holding the flour has no dusty fingerprints on it this year. The items form a still life on the marred wooden work table. There is no reason to make the dough, for the young ones have left and are not there to enjoy the festival bread. The wine bottle remains capped, and the pumpkin sits unused. The elderly, too old to walk hundreds of miles, have no interest in celebrating, and they too, sit still, back in the dark shadows of loneliness.

Note: This week’s flash is my interpretation of the shared artwork.