When I Die

The prompt: What will you miss when you die?

When I die, I'm going to miss maple syrup. I'm not talking about Aunt Jemima, or Log Cabin. I mean 100% U.S. Grade A dark amber maple syrup. I don't care if you're eating ultra-processed Eggo waffles or organic buckwheat-from-scratch griddle cakes: that's what you want pooling on your plate. The stuff that comes out of trees in Vermont.

When I die, I'm going to miss brushing my teeth. Particularly in the morning, after sleep and that first cup of coffee have left their trademark fuzzy wool all over my enamel. I love the taste and the way the lather builds up in my mouth, and then the rinsing. It's like your life starts over again minty fresh every time you do it.

When I die, I'm going to miss redwood forests: that damp, loamy smell and the way it's cool in there, even on a hot day, when you stand amongst those trunks so tall they penetrate the universe.

I will miss the sound leaves make when they crunch underfoot in November.

And I will miss the South Carolina sky, pink and lavender and mottled like a Monet canvas. I have never been a pastel person, but sunrise in December in the Midlands will make you understand, at least a little, why people here so relentlessly believe in God.