Winter Morning

He watched her make coffee. Just as he had a thousand times. Snow had piled up. Outside, the symphony of snowplows moved up and down driveways and sidewalks. She was starting breakfast.

The cast iron skillet made a sizzling sound as eggs and potatoes hit the black bottom. She moved the concoction around the pan, added salt and pepper; a little Louisiana Hot Sauce. He looked on the way he always had for thirty years. Children outside were bundled up in coats and hats.

She plated breakfast and sat it down in front of him. Kissed him on the forehead and poured herself a cup of coffee. He smiled at her. She smiled at him. A Dodge got stuck in a ditch.

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