Gravely Speaking

Grave Heritage is finished except for final readings, edits, and re-writes. This is one of my favorite excerpts. I thought you might enjoy it too.

As I drove across our bridge, around the house, and into the garage to park beside Mom’s Toyota, a sense of homecoming met me. I loved the trees that seemingly stood guard near our home, the welcoming porch, and the small cat who waited inside the door.

Whippoorwills called from the hollow. A nighthawk darted through the twilight, scooping up unsuspecting swarms of tiny insects. Jethro peered through the glass patio door, impatient to greet us. He meowed a welcome as we stepped inside the kitchen, winding around first Mom’s ankles then mine. Checking his food dish, I saw that it was nearly full. Jethro had his little habits, just as we humans do. Many times he would eat  little or nothing until he was sure his people were safely home.

Stooping, I ran my hand over his sleek fur. “Have you been a good watch cat?”

“He’s probably holding out for a little bit of cream,” Mom said. “It won’t take long to mix up some cornbread for us although I don’t think Jethro would care for it. Does cornbread and milk sound all right to you for supper?”

“It sounds perfect,” I answered.

I set the table, poured milk and placed the butter on the table. Soon the aroma of baking bread filled the kitchen. My stomach growled.

Later, sitting at my mother’s hundred-year old table and gazing out the patio doors to the woods beyond the garage which were partially lit by the dusk-to-dawn light, I idly wondered if some of the inhabitants of those woods were looking in at us. What did the ‘possums, skunks, raccoons, and rabbits think about us? Did they see us as interlopers in their domain or just fellow creatures whose home looked quite different from theirs?

“What a day,” Mom murmured, buttering a piece of warm cornbread.

“Heart-wrenching and exhausting,” I answered. “Far too much drama.”

“If you want to call it that; anyhow, it was tiring, I agree, and sad.”