After the long drive, I was too wired for bed and I needed to unwind so I went to my humidor and selected one of my favorite cigars. It was Cuban, a hand-rolled Montecristo, and of course to complete the ritual there had to be whisky so I went for a glass of William LaRue Weller. I usually drink whisky neat, but tonight I’m going with ice.

Considering the many vices of my youth, a Cuban cigar and a fine whisky are the remaining survivors, and at 69 I am pretty sure I’m not going to give up on these two old friends any time soon.

This is one of my last solitary pleasures, but heaven forbid if I ever smoke a cigar in front of Maggie. Let’s just say, if I do, it’s not pretty.

Retired now to the back porch, cigar and whisky in hand, sitting in my old Adirondack chair, two Labradors asleep at my feet—this is my favorite thing. Like tonight, in the winter, on the Mississippi Delta, the night sky can be very, very dark. The nearest major city is Baton Rouge, 80 miles to the north, so out here in the country on cloudless nights the sky fills with stars.

Millions and millions of stars.