A dash to the store for gloves. recalling there was no fabric soften. squeezing the boxes. sniffing the flavors.
The memory of the smell of a load of warm, dry towels he dropped in my lap opened a mile-wide chasm of missing him.
He used to watch me do this magic from the couch. Come out to see what was making me smile. Smile with me.
Tease me for purple fingers.
There's magic in memory, too.