The old man sat on a porch swing overlooking the highway in his front yard. Tires from semis kicked gravel into the grass. Every summer and into autumn neighbors down the road could hear the old man yelling as the lawnmower threw rocks towards the windows on his trailer home. But, this was the dead of winter. Slush and ice along with pools of water at the end of his driveway was all he had to look at. No green grass, nor multi-colored leaves to rake, just pitch black slush and dark water. It was as if everything was dead. Now, he was just waiting his turn.

His wife passed on some time ago. He couldn’t remember the date. Died of cancer. It was a long drawn out sickness. He tended to her. Took care of the elderly woman as best he could. He didn’t show any anger, or, questioning of God during her illness. But, he was mad at Jehovah. And after she died, he let it all out.

She’s gone, he whispered while drinking a beer. He took her, he said. I guess it’s all about timing, took another swig. You only got so much time. Or, it’s a punishment, he crushed the beer can and picked out another from his cooler. Either way. She’s gone. And he took her.

Three diesels came running through his front yard. The tips of their tires touched the dirt and weeds. It was now spring time. The season when she died. He brought Lillies to her in the hospice on Easter. She was asleep. He sat with her for hours. Looking at his wife. Held her hand. Had tubes running from it. What I wouldn’t do for ya, he told her. What I wouldn’t do. Soon the flowers will be here, he said to himself. Soon, he whispered. But, I won’t. No. I won’t.