The brisk December breeze carried with it flakes of the white kind. Sliding driving conditions gave me a ticket for reckless driving. Well, pardon me. The kitchen sink pipes froze ice to the led. I was good with my hands; at least that’s what she said. I kept her out of my head. That is until I read the words she left on my side of the bed, and now red is what I see through a tall glass of wine and three days before Christmas and ten days after an anniversary. The last conversation spread thin white lies to soft goodbyes. Departed she did to wherever she went. Ten years to the day, she returned on Christmas Day.
(© 2021 AC)