Thanksgiving

When dinner is over and the dishwasher hums in the background, the adults linger at the table, telling stories of work and children, new houses and old friends.

Later the men retire to the porch with cigars, white smoke rising like steam in the cold clear air. The women sit in the glow of lamplight in the living room, talking about wedding plans and family.

Scents linger in the kitchen, where turkey bones simmer with carrots, onions and spices to make broth for soup.

As the shadows lengthen, memories of times gone by linger beneath the surface.

I miss you sometimes.

What the hey.