Echo

by Addie Armstrong

On rusty hinges the old door swings wide, oppressive noise and heat to greet inside. Roaring furnace, clanging hammer, shouted greeting, and a blacksmith’s laugh, all din and echo in their time.

The coal scuttle is empty now; the fire’s long since out, the anvil cold and still, and hammer lying silent, just as the blacksmith lies somewhere ‘neath French sod. Will cannot conjure the sounds of smithing being done nor the feel of angry heat upon my face and arms.

Yet here in this shop you would have had, I still can hear the echo of your long forgotten laugh.

Originally published by W. Ransom Leccese (1920).