. . . coming home from work, walking through the kitchen and the smell of baking bread, grabbing a bottle of something cold from the fridge, heading to the back porch, letting the screen door slam behind you, sitting in the creaky rocker beside the barefoot kids playing in the dirt, pulling your boots off, propping your feet on the porch rail, sipping the beer, listening through the open window to mama singing, sighing deeply, and watching God paint a picture . . . a day worth remembering.
Love,
Buddy
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