by Sarah Earlene Shere, ©2024
(Nov. 29, 2024) — With a thankful heart I tramp into our cottage that I built for you so long ago, before you were my bride. Quickly I close the door behind me in order to shut out Jack Frost, who is hard at work outside. With a sigh, I sway to the fireplace and reach out my hands, now trembling with age, hoping for a thaw. Soon the warmth of the room begins to envelop me. Scents both savory and sweet mingle together and climb up my nostrils, till I feel them fill my head with childhood memories and the excitement of an impending feast.
I turn my eyes to our table and see you there, hard at work, as usual, making our house a home. How lovely you look in the light of the candles there! Your white-gold hair is trying to escape its confines atop your head. Your flushed cheeks bring to mind the innocence of youth. Suddenly, you look up at me and give me one of your beautiful jewels: your smile. You no longer snap at me to wipe my feet. You no longer reprimand me for dropping my soiled outer clothes on the floor or furniture. But, now, your eyes gently lower to my shoes and back up to my face. I understand and step back to the mat at the door and stomp and wipe my feet. I smile at you as I head off to remove my hat and coat and wash my hands. I’m trying to do better; I want to be better for you.
At the dinner table, I take your wrinkled hands in mine. We bow our heads as I lead us in a prayer of thanks to our Maker. In silence I carve the turkey as you begin to pile our plates from the banquet for two laying before us. We don’t speak much anymore; we don’t need to. We move in silent harmony with each other, as one. Every now and then our eyes meet and twinkle. As the autumn turns into winter, I am thankful for our sturdy house, our fire on the hearth, but, mostly, I’m thankful for the warmth of your love.