She loved to sit at the counter
On one of those old bar stools,
Drinking sweet tea
From a worn-out yellowed
Montgomery Ward pitcher,
While she crunched ice,
And the salty smell of fried chicken
Floated from the decades old
Cast iron skillet
To seek out and fill every last
Nook and cranny in that old house.
She loved to sit in the porch swing
That hung on the deck
Over the creek.
She would sit there for hours
And let the humid air comfort her like an old friend
While the sun beat down on her legs.
She would watch the humming birds
Zip through the stagnant hot air
To drink from the bright red feeder
Filled to the brim with sugar water,
While the robins would sit
In the shady branches
Of the pecan trees,
And the katydids chirped from
Somewhere near by.
She didn't mind the heat.
