Back Porch Sittin'

The Old Man and I sat on the back porch watching the sun set over the Rockies and drinking Miller High Life cans. His hand found mine - the touch of his skin always goes deep - and we talked about how this crazy family schedule wouldn't have to last forever. The sprinkler rhythm was low and sweet and it smelled like Russian Sage and fresh cut grass.

"I'm sorry I'm so fat and emotional," I said.

The Old Man smacked a mosquito on his neck. "You're not fat," he said.