A letter from Papaw — Tuesday. Rain on the tin.

I'll tell you something I've been chewing on since yesterday.

The phone the kids gave me rang in my pocket and I couldn't find the right button. By the time I had it figured out, the ringing stopped. Stood there in the kitchen holding it like a man holding a fish he doesn't know.

Sat down at the table after. Said grace over a cup of coffee, nobody watching. Got to thinking about Mama's Bible in the other room, the spine taped up three different times. Got to thinking about my pew at the church, worn smooth on the right side where I lean.

Here's the confession. I thought what I'd miss about Ruth was the big things. The talking. The bed. It ain't. It's that she'd have answered that phone on the first ring and handed it to me.

Hank's at the screen door wanting in out of the rain.

Love,