Mose and Louise

    I remember Mose and Louise Robinson sitting on that porch swing many a summer night. They lived in that house for over fifty years, raising six children in the process. They've all been gone for years now. But once or twice a year they used to come back and crowd that little house, with a gaggle of their own kids in tow. And Mose and Louise were never happier.
    Hard work and heredity finally caught up with Mose, and he died quietly in his sleep one night, with Louise there by his side. Try as they might - her children couldn't convince her to move in with one of them. She'd always say "I spent the happiest years of my life here with your Daddy, and this is where I'll spend the rest of it". But without her Mose, she just ran out of will and reason, and one night, she just slipped away from us all to be back with him.
    Pretty soon some developer will be putting up expensive condos with a view of the sound, and this old, rickety, weed-choked home of my dear friends will be gone. But never will the memories of Mose and Louise, sitting there on a hot summer night, with the radio pumping big-band music through the window screen as they sway back and forth on that old swing. Their heads will be tilted slightly back and towards each other, sweat dripping down their necks and cold drink glasses in unison, as their soft smiles caress each other.
    See you again soon my old friends.