Summer in The South

What a good thing is a porch, too many cigars, and conversation. In the near perfect southern heat you can forget, briefly, that the money is running out, that some shadow of action is ultimately required, that cruel requests have been extended, that your Boy will soon be gone for a week and the silence will deafen, that options are less than scarce, that health cannot be taken for granted, that your dear old cat is dying...

You can focus on the simple and soothing. Brutal beautiful football; beautiful, affirming fall; the routine of your Boy's school days and nights. Things like that. But mostly, the blue grey nightfall and its embrace. You wonder if, besides your son, nightfall may be the only thing you've ever loved.

And you think on it and shrug. And you hold a wooden match to another cigar. Send a cloud of blue smoke into the thick night of it.

And you are content.