Who am I to say

Matthew drives the same tractor his grandfather did. Fits him, just like the old man. He seems most at peace on that old thing. Like he’s almost conversing with him. I see he’s calling it a day, early. He saw the lights on in the distance. She’s surely there. But I don’t know if it’s where he needs to be. But who am I to say?

Blame the Squirrel

The apples are ripe and the kids are just as guilty as the squirrels…or birds, if they aren’t picked in a timely fashion, one of the culprits will have that tree cleaned of its fruit. 

Two of the biggest apple thieves used to sit on that branch to the left. She and Steven would spend the good part of an afternoon, picking, eating, talking, and joking. Like cinnamon and sugar. Not that one was sweeter than the other. Hardly.  

Cinnamon and sugar… back to the issue at hand. The apples are ready. Sauce, pie, bread, or right off the tree.  Yes,… right off the tree…I’ll just blame it on the squirrel.

They Still Bloom

He lost her in the blink of an eye. The flowers, over thirty years old in that same spot, still bloom. They sow themselves each fall, independent, determined…just like her. Some years they are thick, some years shy in their display. But always there…just like her. As they wave in the wind I think of her smile...her warmth. No matter how long she has been gone...the memories, sometimes heavy, sometimes a wisp on the late summer breeze, always return. 

Great Care Taken

Fresh out of the garden. Hannah prides herself on serving nothing but locally grown at the cafe. You wouldn’t dare suggest anything “out of the can”. The only thing more stubborn than that woman…I’ll have to think on that.