His Smile Did All the Talking

His Smile Did All the Talking

My father’s big, cozy chair sat in the corner of the music room.
There, he listened to Wagner while devouring books about everything.
The small room smelled of leather,
and chocolate-cherry pipe tobacco; the earthy, sweet scent still accessible to me a lifetime later. I suppose it was his man cave-
before there was such a thing.
But situated in the middle of the house,
it was not private, nor exclusionary. Doors always open, invited me to take a seat in the chair opposite his when I needed to chat, or just sit quietly in his company.
He would look up, over the readers set on the tip of his nose, and smile…
A man of few words,
his smile did all the talking.