His coat a brownish ginger. Blonde in the light. He forever sat on the porch of his house where some dusty shoes still lay, holding a determined stare toward the hilltop where the road was.

His love would sometimes stand behind and then rest her chin across his head before breathing deeply and heading back inside. She was too old now to sit in the sun and so she left the waiting to him.

Their kids had been long gone. They had found their lives elsewhere – on other farms, in other homes.

From the doorway she watched him watch the road everyday. As a silhouette would appear his ears would peak, and then hers would too. But that silhouette was always just shade.

For her love, that road was his hope and the man he’d wait for was his world. The man had picked him up from the roadside where he had thought he’d seen the end. The man had given him his life.

And so he sat, missing the rough stroke of his hand. That warm scent. The gentle smile the man held as he sat beside him to watch the road together.