There was something more in him than other men, but there was also something missing. Known to sip a little whiskey after his evening prayers, he wore the same red faded moleskin shirt most every day. He avoided political talk but would on occasion boom the verse from Matthew about heavy burdens grievous to be borne. He kept to himself after his wife Callie died preferring only the company of her prized Airedale, Sue. But he hired a boy to mow his lawn that golden summer. As I cut those rows a sadness licked at my heels improving my posture. I realize now he paid me in spades introducing me to chicory coffee, and more of the difficult splendor.