I heard your old rocker creak, and for a moment I forgot.
It might have been a stray breeze, or maybe just the cat brushing against it, an old habit from all the years he rubbed contentedly against your legs.
But in my heart it was you, home once again.
Chris Fries is a still-developing writer, slowly working to hone his craft. He is an engineer by vocation, a guitarist by avocation, and a writer by compulsion. So far, his blog has been his primary outlet for his quasi-creative meanderings.