In the Evening

In early evening when the sun shows its first signs of mercy she arrives home. The front door is unlocked, the lights are off yet sunlight floods the front room through the open windows.

She kicks off her shoes at the front door and strides with the familiarity of decades across the floor, warm from the slatted light. After a quick change of clothes and a glass of water gathered from the kitchen sink she retreats to the back patio.

Her legs stretch out onto the wicker ottoman as she reclines into a position of eternal rest in her chair. On the small table next to her sits a decanter containing a hazy pink liquid. An empty bottle of rosé rests next to the container, the label turned towards her chair for easy review.

Quietly, she fills an empty glass with wine and relaxes into the rest of the day. The sun quickly retreats towards the horizon. The wind gently tosses her greying hair away from her face and lulls music from the large metallic chimes hanging nearby. After some time a movement draws her attention to the tree line behind the cottage.


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A male form appears between the mossy trunks and moves methodically towards the house. The man stops at a fountain in the small garden. He bends down to the bubbling water and with cupped hands rinses the day from his face and neck. He takes off his shirt and wipes the weathered skin of his torso dry.

The woman sips contentedly from her glass and watches the man intently–a smirk sneaking onto her lips.

The man strides up to the patio and grabs a clean shirt from the chair on the other side of the small table. She openly makes note of every detail on his frame, making no effort to hide her approval. He pulls the shirt over his sun-browned skin and returns her smirk.

She grabs the second glass on the small table and fills it. Without rising from her chair she holds the full glass towards him.

“What did you discover today, my love,” she asks.

“A lovely stream fed by the source of all beauty in this world. I followed it all day, and it led me back to you.”

She smiles wide and giggles.

He lowers himself into the chair on the other side of the table and reaches across the divide to grasp her hand. Their fingers intertwine and together, they watch the sun set.


About Zachary Wiser

Zachary is an educator, copy writer, musician, and father in Iowa. His work can be found in the Del Sol Review, and he is currently working on his first novel.

>> Zachary Wiser's author page

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