Loss

Gene Schmidt

She thought, "That's him, ambling up the driveway. Sloshing snow in his boots, as usual."

"Leave those boots out on the porch," she was ready to tell him, "shake the snow off your jacket."

Hot soup, dry clothes, an hour of television. And a story. She would have rocked him to sleep in her arms.

But it was only sunlight reflecting off of snow.

Copyright ©2001 Gene Schmidt. All Rights Reserved.

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May, 2001 Issue #61

64 Words

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