Raised Glass

The evening was clear and cool, a magnificent end to a warm autumn day. We leaned against white-painted porch rails to watch the sunset. Ma joined us for one, grimaced good-naturedly at the burn, and told us not to stay out too late before disappearing back inside.

Distantly, I could hear the methodical click of her knitting needles, a rhythm that went hand-in-hand with the slow creak of the rocking chair by the fire.

Pa wrapped an arm around me - an arm that had seen time and hard work, that had guided and supported and done a thousand other good things. It was somehow both stronger and frailer than I remembered.

I put a hand into my jacket and knew that I would find the watch there. No matter that I hadn't seen it for years. I tapped it with one hand and raised my glass in the other.

"Let's have another, Dad. I'm sure there's a bit more in that bottle."

He gave me a knowing smile before knocking his drink back.

"Thanks for sharing, son. In fact, we've probably got time to open another."