True partners

     His eyes watered these days, guess getting old things begin to leak from a lot of places. He wiped them with a tissue and pulled up a chair to his writing desk, a piece he had bought in a thrift store many years ago. The old typewriter was like an old friend that had been around for as long as he could remember. He tried once to use something his granddaughter called a “Tablet," but it wasn't for him. He liked hearing the keys click and the single bell that sounded when the paper ran its course and had to be manually pulled back to start another line. He didn't have an office per say, but rather a corner of the dining room hidden from view by one of those Asian room dividers with colorful floral designs. His wife had brought that home years ago and its been that way ever since. He was comfortable in his little space behind the divider. There was a window looking out at their back property that went on for about five acres. He saw many different animals over the years, but none touched him like the deer. They would quietly approach the house as he watched in silence and awe. So beautiful and harmless, he never understood why they were hunted when all one had to do was take a ride to the supermarket.

     He wrote a piece once about a deer with questioning eyes, a sad tale but one that needed telling. The response was harsh, and he imagined it was hunters who disliked that piece. Today was the opening of deer season, but the small herd that walked his acres were safe from the hunter’s guns and bows. He had spent the better part of a week walking his property line posting warning signs, and so far, his little heard have roamed around free of worry. He loved writing about the beauty outside his window, never tiring of all it had to offer. He wrote about the winds blowing through the trees, the changing of the seasons, blankets of autumn leaves and winters snow. Squirrels and rabbits forging for food and birds of many kinds some coming to rest on the window sill as if this man behind the glass had something to tell them. His was a wonderful life and the ancient typewriter his call of the wild. When he passed, his granddaughter packed his things and gave most to his favorite charity, but the old typewriter she kept as a reminder that her granddad not only turned words into stories, but he did so with a machine that he became a part of over time and together they were true partners, true storytellers right up to the final chapter.

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