Rocking chairs and smoke rings

 He sat in the chair she used to sit in. Remembering the talks they had about life's happiness and sorrows. They talked about everything until the silence kicked in, and the only sounds were her rocking and him making smoke rings from his pipe on a still August night. In the distance, a train's whistle blew, and he wondered what his life would have been if he had pursued his dream of working on the railroad. He rocked in her chair when she wasn't there, hearing her voice tell him about the times they worked the land together and what it meant to her to be by his side through the good years and the not-so-good years. He heard her laughter and dried her tears when something broke her heart. He would kneel beside her chair back then and stop it from rocking, look into her eyes, and give her a tender smile, which she met with a smile and a squeeze of her hand in his.

When the snow began to fall, he brought her chair inside and sat it by the fireplace so she'd be warm, remembering how much she disliked the cold. He couldn't count the times he watched her rocking away and tending to her knitting, her fingers doing the work but her mind a thousand miles away. He remembered one such night when he stood up and asked her if he'd done something wrong, nervously watching his pipe smoke disappear into the darkness. She stopped her knitting and smiled at him, saying the only thing he was guilty of was being the best man she'd ever known.
Springtime arrived, and her chair went back outside where she could feel the warmth on her face and smell the flowers she'd planted everywhere. They ate almost every meal outside, laughing at times and other times as silent as the air itself, beckoning her to walk off the porch and dance in a valley of wildflowers. He clapped his hands and stomped his boots as he watched her spin around, her long hair swinging in the breeze and her laughter as pure as honey. Then she took a mason jar and chased fireflies, trapping them inside and lighting her way around her private dance floor.
They were as one, living their perfect life together through the good and the bad, the joys and sorrows that belonged only to them. Her chair quit rocking one summer day, the same day his heart broke into pieces. He spends most days now sitting in her chair, slowly rocking as smoke rings float up to the stars, where she will poke a finger through one and smile.

Mike 2026

                                                                                     

MIKE 2026