The Writer
He was a local hero for a while holding court with a new generation of apprentices. His books were local Lowcountry gothic novels. He loved Edgar Allen Poe, Hemingway, and Harper Lee. As the years passed people’s interests changed and his books sold less and less. He came to sit at his table by the window every day. For a while, his love from Charleston came to be with him and he was happy but in time she too faded away. He had no children, so he became a recluse spending his days at the café. He lived in a nice apartment over the café, a benefit from the success of his first book.
A Cottage By The Sea
It has been a while since I have been to my cottage by the sea. The cottage is warm and welcoming with a breeze blowing the curtains. In my favorite leather chair by the window lays a book that I didn’t finish, a story of the sea and of great adventures of old. The book, a companion, a friend, a door to walk through, or a page to turn. It lays there waiting just where I left it, waiting for my return. The bookmark still there between the pages where the story was interrupted.
The Empty Room
The empty room is silent the only noise is the creaking of the chair as I move to pick up a tin container. It is an old tin with a Norman Rockwell painting on the lid. The one of a boy and his dog. Inside I find some marbles, baseball cards, an old black and white school photo, and a check yes or no love letter. I feel like I am eavesdropping on these moments in time and the stories that still live here.
The Quiet Man
Daddy believed in doing. He was not one for talking. I spent a lot of time with him in the fields and later riding with him when he drove a truck. He taught me about life by showing me and being an example and a testament to what he taught. I learned by watching and listening. I think the one thing he said the most was to use common sense.
