” My heart pounded. She smiled, her eyes crinkled. She stood. “How are you, Phil?” “I’m fine, and you?” “Good. I’m surprised at so m...ny weeds.” She stepped over the mulched bed, between fading perennials, and came into my yard. She looked up at the yellowing leaves of the tall maples in her yard. “They’ll drop the leaves soon,” she said. “The summer went so fast.” I nodded. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Being so close to her knotted my tongue. I wanted to touch her. “What have you. Anyhow, I’m done ranting. Let’s speak of happier topics, eh? My friends, I know I might sound like a sucker for saying this but I love my Fathiyah more than life itself. My tall, bronze-skinned and Black-haired Arabian goddess means more to me than I can ever say. I am nothing without the woman I love. I’m not just saying this because I am a recently married man. A lot of married guys around the world seem to hate their wives. And a lot of wives around the world hate their husbands. I pray to. More

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