Pensive Pen

She rose early, just before dawn, sliding her feet into her slippers and wrapping her robe around her to guard against the morning chill. She shuffles down the hall to the kitchen and puts the kettle on to boil. While the water heats, she takes from the cupboard a dainty cup—adorned with delicate blue flowers and slightly yellowed by years. The kettle whistles and the water steams as it flows over the tea bag in the cup. The sun is just starting to glow on the horizon as she walks to a tattered burgundy wingback chair by the front window. Her frail body is warmed by the hot tea helps as she sits and watches the morning sky awake from shades of grey and steel blue to vibrant pinks and oranges.

She was just finishing her tea when she heard the children’s voices--laughing and singing as they walked to school. Her thoughts raced back to when her own children would walk down that same sidewalk so many years ago. Then the house was filled with sounds. Feet running up and down the hall. Toys buzzing and ringing. Songs and laughter. So bright and happy. But now the house is so quiet she can hear the wall clock slowly ticking time away. It feels dark and cold.

Movement at the corner of her eye brings her back to today. It’s the Postman making his daily rounds. He pauses at each box to take the outgoing mail and leave the new mail—the party invitations and birthday cards, the long homesick letters from kids away at college and the short notes from grown children with families of their own. He is a very sweet young man who always brings her mail to the door for her, pausing to chat for a moment before continuing his route. But today he only gives her a slight shake of his head and a little wave. There is no mail for her today, no letters from the children, not even a bill or a sales paper.

The afternoon sun is warm and comforting on her face. She slips into sleep where her dreams keep her company. She finds herself taking long mountain hikes with the family, singing in choirs, jumping into huge piles of orange, yellow and red leaves and dancing grand waltzes at some of the finest halls. These dreams comfort her and she smiles faintly in her sleep.

Hunger wakes her. She sets the dinner table for two. They were together for 60 years until he passed a year ago. She still half expects to turn and see him sitting in his old chair reading the newspaper. She makes a cold ham and cheese sandwich on the plate with delicate blue flowers slightly yellowed by years and eats silently.

Darkness has fallen and house has a chill to it. The dishes are clean and put away. She shuffles back to the bedroom and crawls into bed. The right side is hers. The left side was always his. She pulls the covers up around her shoulders and turns to face his pillow. His scent still lingers there and for a moment, she can hear his voice, "I love you, Darlin'". She falls asleep imagining him holding her close and dreaming of days past.

She rose early, just before dawn….

I grew up on a small farm in the Appalachian foothills. As the leaves changed to brilliant shades of red and orange and the days changed to crisp and cool, the farm also changed. The hay in the field had been cut, baled and put in the barn for the long winter. The tobacco was curing in the rafters making the whole barn smell of its sweet pungent scent. Daddy and PaPaw would put the electric fence around the field. It was time to bring the cows home.

The cows spent the summer at my Great Grandparents in a pasture further up the mountains. There was plenty of grass for them to eat there and we needed the time to work the garden, the tobacco and the hay without worrying about the cows. But once the crops petered out and the hay was up, it was time to bring them home. Daddy would take the old red truck up the mountain and bring them home a couple at a time. We didn’t have many, just 5 cows and sometimes a bull. There was Ol’ Red, Fanny, Bessie, my brother’s cow, Ginger and my cow, Blackie. They would saunter off the truck and go right back to grazing as though they’d never left.

Our house was surrounded by the field so we saw the cows all the time. I would wake in the mornings and look out my window to find Blackie. Cows are very calm creatures, walking around slowly, eating constantly taking the occasional break to scratch their back on a tree. They are also creatures of habit. They knew when the sun started to set low and Daddy or PaPaw headed to the barn, it was feeding time. I liked to go with them to feed the cows but I had to stay out of sight so they wouldn’t spook as they came into the barn. Daddy let me put the sweet feed in the trough for them then I would rub their noses while they ate. Daddy climbed into the hayloft and dropped hay down for them. We’d tell them all goodnight and head back to the house just before dark for a hot supper of our own.

The time eventually came when Daddy and PaPaw weren’t able to care for the cows and we had to sell them all. It was hard for everyone. I miss them. Still to this day, a cow pasture or barn will send my thoughts rushing back home.