He was tired, but he felt good, for he had just finished moving those seven forsythia bushes again. Dang it, seemed that every time he got them planted and they started to grow, something would come up so he would need to move them. Heck, he grinned, “Maybe I should just plant them in buckets for five or ten years.”

“Excuse me sir, excuse me.” He heard a woman’s voice, a sweet melodic voice, and he turned to face the gravel road behind him. There standing by the fence, on the other side of it of course, was a woman. He waved. “Howdy, typical Wyoming spring day,” he said as, with shovel in hand, he walked toward her.

“I am looking for 1563. Do you know which house it is?”

She was not a pretty woman, but a woman whose eyes were full of sunshine and her mouth was a curve of joy. She had seen better days," he decided, "but her voice and smile said she was a loving woman.

He neared the fence where she was standing, hoping she did not notice him ogling her, undressing her, and giving her the eye. “What number was that?” He asked.

“1563 McAllister Lane, which house is it?” she asked as she leaned over the fence.

“Don’t know, must be on the other end, this is 1302, and that one is 1410. I have no idea what the other numbers are.” He doffed his old blue navy watch cap and then pulled it back over his white hair.

“Sorry," he continued. "But I have only lived here a few years and the only name I know is the Clairsyncs who live in the second house.” Is that the new couple who bought the green house?" he added. "A young couple with one child and two horses, who live 22 miles out of town?”

She shook her head.

“The Squabblenockers, Jane and Jim Squabblenocker.” He was smitten with her. “Oh dear lady, such a delight, oh dear lady, whose eyes are full of sunshine and whoser mouth is a curve of joy. How I would love to hold you and taste those lovely lips.” His head always went ninety-leben miles a minute, but his body was reduced to first gear. “As I said I don’t know anyone’s name except the one I mentioned.” He felt silly.

“Are you writing, or composing a poem about me as we speak?” She asked with exuberance.

His face reddened, “Yes maam, I was, just the foible of an old man,” he replied.

“Your head is a-buzz with thoughts and ideas. Boy it is chilly when the snow squalls come through,” she replied, throwing out a hint.

“Tell you what, how about coming in and having a cup of hot coffee, or a cup of tea or maybe some cocoa?”

“But what will your wife say, you bringing another woman into your house?” She was a coy one, that she was, he could tell, she was full of pee and vinegar and a lot of laughs.

“She won’t say anything for she passed on eleven years ago. You just have me to contend with,” he said as he pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket. “Or are you too busy to share a cup of coffee which most likely is worse than Marv’s?”

She smiled, “You are a character aren’t you, sure, I would love a cup,” and they walked up the fenceline together.

He put his shovel by the back door, and opened the screen door,”Come on in, but ignore an old man’s mess, and Old dog will be here in a minute. Just talk to him and scratch behind his ears and you will be friends for life.” He took off the old blue jacket he was wearing, the one with sevendistinct patches on it.

About then there was a noise and a big dog came from inside the house.

“Hi there fellow, you are a pretty big dog, yes you are,” she said as she knelt and put her hand on his head and he licked her face. “Yes sir, you are a nice fellow too, a nice fellow, you going to let me come in and have a cup with this man?” She pointed to him and Old Dog’s tail wagged. He liked her.

Soon they were having a cup, and he found some cookies in the cupboard. He was smitten. “Her eyes were full of sunshine and her mouth was a curve of joy.” The phrase kept running through his head. But when she stood and took her coat off, he liked what he saw even better, and they did enjoy a nice chat, a nice long chat.

Matter of fact this lady now lives here, sharing her life with the old man who did not know where 1563 was, and still does not.

© Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)