Pipe smoke joined with the smell of fresh cut grass and I cupped cold hands around the brown mug and watched the evening sunlight slant long against the newly-mown lawn.
A blackbird of some sort flapped its wings and called loudly and fluffed its breast feathers in some elaborate courtship ritual. Chickadees cocked small heads from the fence top, and a dove settled on the power line nearby.
The cold wind had died down but the sun was quickly losing warmth and I shivered, wrapping the coat tight around me.
He flipped study guide pages, looked up occasionally at me, at the sunlight, to relight the pipe gone cold.
Church bells tolled 8 o’clock.
Four years we’ve been married now, traveling together through changes and heartbreak and challenges, to here. And I don’t know how long we’ll be here, in this quiet place, this good place of dreams and goals and plans and a home we love.
But it’s nice to know that we’re going together, where ever that may be.