What of wood; a pile of trees that gave their life to save yours. What of the eyes that see, a gaze of light, beams through a window; sash up, hands on the sill. Glance out at a tree full in green. To the left a man in brown standing there in the blazing sun. A breeze through his coat; yours on a rack. Taken to him a log of your own; over your head you hold it; “There”. Not enough, maybe another, two arms are up holding them aloft. Take care of the side; a bitterness you say? A feeling of contempt? But the activity of help prevails. Persevere with mindful gritted teeth but only a smile. Hurrily you grab another log to the right and one for the left, then another, and another till a box is formed. You look out and around at your abode; they look the same. Gently he sleeps, soundly you walk home to your window leaning against a wood, pearing now through the same window on the floor, sash gone, now a door for he, you have him clothes. Part of your roof gone, you have him food. Sill gone, you have him a hat, glass up as you glance up to Father with a hopeful smile; we will be okay.

Copyright © 2019 Callie E. Austin