And really when I think about it all, the mornings on the interstate at dawn, the colors of the farm

land in the fall, the winters when the fields were mostly gone to frost and snow and stalks and

mud and crows, the miles to work I traveled so I’d be the kind of husband everybody knows

a wife would want, not necessarily the only thing she wanted, nonetheless, a part of what she

wanted.

As for me, I wanted even more than happiness to just belong.

And far as I can see, her dying was for me like when it snows on winter fields, all wind and mud

and crows.

Come Back by Sam Floyd >>

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