The morning lingers. Longer, deeper breaths celebrate the calm of this day. I dress into a relaxed maxi dress, that oversized wool cardigan, the one he claims is his, and a pair of thick warm socks, because even though spring is tinting the world with green and sunshine, a winter chill haunts my toes. My hair remains in a perfectly unkempt state, my favorite way.
Filling the kettle, grinding the beans, and the art of the press poured into small cups without lids. I draw back the blinds and open a few windows to hear the song of the feathered ones. Sweeping through the house, I let in the light, my favorite morning part. Welcome back, dear friend. The trees are eager to burst forth with foliage, but as of this morning, remain dark and spiny. I can see a church steeple in the near distance, from where the bells ring at 11 o’clock every Sunday morning. Soon the tree line will fill and the crepe myrtles will adorn the streets with the loveliest pink.
More coffee is poured into small cups. Pages of books are turned. There will be porch swings, naps, and bubbles.
Together on a Saturday.
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