Errol

ERROL

Cheyenne Miller — Photos: Calen Moore

your last early October morning you rise with the fog off Beaver Lake far past the remains of Monte Ne. you drift back through this life for the last time, through your quiet living room, past the still rocking chair, and past your soundly sleeping wife. you think you’ll find her again out there, somewhere — maybe in another life.

go past the terrier sleeping at her side. move past the kitchen table for last looks at your own blue eyes reflected in the foggy window— bright as your new star forming, still clear as this eternity,

now burning.

one last look at the old red truck in the yard that sits and waits to fly. depart

Out the door, bare feet on deep dirt blue tonight, tinged with the shine of forever Christmas lights, and see all your children, children again, happy playing under them. the Ozark fireflies light your farmer’s smile. the Ozark fireflies float down the path, behind the trees, and lead you back.