Friday, September 4, 2015


Home Is Where the Heart Is

They came from a long way off, very old friends, at least the

man was. Another new wife we got to know and like. There was

wine. There was summer evening, a song sparrow serenaded

around a dessert of sliced fresh fruit and blueberry bread. We

started on the dirty dishes but left them in hot suds, there was

too much to show in the short time they were here. We traveled

around the old colonial home patched together with no money

and stories instead. They became lost in the small rooms, the

sloped ship-like floors, dim lighting. We laughed and visited in a

living room laid out for no company. It was obvious to see we

stretched out on the sofa two feet from the wood fire and

napped like kittens together through the winter. How could

anyone visit with that? When we made up their bed, crisp sheets

and pillow cases, they said they would sleep in their truck.


  © Bob Arnold