Memory
I remember my grandfather's laugh. That is the most vivid thing about him that still rings in my head from time to time. It was dry from his dust-filled farmer's lungs, but it was the laugh of one happily amused. Sometimes it seemed like it was a personal joke that no one else really got. Of course, when you live so many years you know things that those who have not don't.
He was bent and crooked from hard work, but stood tall. His hands were gnarled and twisted from having been broken and never set countless times, but surprisingly deft.
He was bent and crooked from hard work, but stood tall. His hands were gnarled and twisted from having been broken and never set countless times, but surprisingly deft.