Pipes

Maurice loved his pipe.

When I was a smoker, 30 years ago, I too liked a pipe.
Pensive to fill and aromatic to smoke,
Tactile paraphernalia and olfactory pleasure,
Pipe racks and tobacco jars.

As I removed things from my garage for removal to Norfolk, I came acroos a box, in the corner on the highest shelf. I suspected it was a box of pipes, mostly rescued from my father's home after his passing. I intended to give them to my brother at the weekend, but forgot.

Today I got the box down.

Pipes.

A clock.

A wallet (empty, save for a photo of my eldest son!)

A shopping list, the last he wrote.