He was sitting on the porch near the shadow of the gazebo, rocking on the coiled-wire hinge of his deck chair. The August sun was waning as evening – and with it dinner – approached. He allowed himself to let his focus blur as he took a long pull that finished the bottle of Summer Shandy he’d been nursing for the past half-hour. The waves of Lake Michigan and the sandy shores had called it a truce for the day, and were in the process of retreating to their front lines. And then the baritone grate of the sliding door jostled him upright in his chair, and as he slowed the pulse of his rocker she said, “dinner’s ready.”
Written from 6:40 am to 7:00 am on Thursday, February 9th, 2012 at home in Traverse City, Michigan.