smoke
Smoke from the old chimney billowed upward only to disappear into the glow of the morning sun. The old farmhouse sat serenely atop the hill leading to the ravine by the creek. The family welcomed the timid knock on the door by this adventurous young country lad. As the door swung fully open, the smell of freshly cooked food burst forth from the depths of the time worn kitchen in the rear of the house. Though early in the morning, the savory scent was not of bacon and eggs, but of something quite different. The table in the old kitchen near the well worn wood cook stove was already set and hot biscuits were about to be rendered from the oven. Fried chicken and hot biscuits with gravy was about to be served up to the family of four waiting longingly for the fare. An invitation to join was declined by this lad since a feast of country ham and eggs had already been consumed earlier. This wanderer said his goodbyes and gave proper thanks for the invitation before departing for more adventures through the woods that morning. Memories are like precious jewels stored in the chest of time. Occasional browsing through the well worn chest yields an orb of value far beyond its initial appearance. Coated with the salve of thankfulness and polished with the cloth of gratitude, the remembered gem is placed back in the chest of time to shine brighter than before.