Just One Touch
It’s a fine winter’s morning here on the outskirts of our little town, and I confess to feeling blessed. Picked up my medication yesterday in a sister city to the west and then got my groceries last night in another to the north. I removed two wheels from the riding lawnmower and will take them to the local tire shop for repair this morning. My son and I discussed our storage bin needs for the workroom, and will probably get them next week. It feels like good winter work.
Later this morning I will begin to burn the brush we’ve accumulated. It will be a small fire, fed continuously by yours truly, and it may take some time to complete the task. I think I’ll take a chair and sit beside the fire and pretend I’m camping. It will be good to be outdoors and I assume the winter sun has some vitamins to spare. It is amazing how performing even the minutest of tasks can provide a sense of accomplishment and well-being, which reminds me, I have a few dirty dishes in the sink.
I heard from a friend yesterday who I hadn’t heard from in a while. I thought we might have gotten crossways, but the nice thing about friends of longstanding is that silence sometimes is just silence. That’s one of the things I miss about the departed wife. Sitting in silence, lost in our own thoughts, just being together. We passed many evenings, and drives, and nights at the beach that way. But almost always, without fail, one or the other would reach out a hand, and with a touch say more than all the words in the world.