I miss the quiet times the most
when you were reading in your study
and I in mine working on my computer.
We enjoyed the companionable silence.
Now and then you would say, “Here’s something
you might be interested in,” and you’d read
me a few paragraphs. You were always right.
Or when the children and grandchildren
left after a hectic visit. We’d stand
on the front porch, your arm around my shoulders
and sigh. “It’s nice to be just the two of us,”
you’d say and I would agree.
Or when we’d watch a movie together in the evening.
No words were needed. We knew what the other enjoyed.
Now the quiet times are the worst.
The silence stretches.
October 2014