saturday morning

six a.m.

i lay there until a reality snaps back

the dawn’s light grows brighter and slowly meets the twilight sky of the  evening

the room’s cool feel surrounds as i unwrap myself  from the comfort warmth of the flannel sheets.

i turn to rest my feet upon the carpet –

still reluctant to remove myself  from the comfort of sleep.

the fibers of the carpet surrounds my toes,

and i give myself a long stretch, arms above my head, torso stretched.

somehow i stand and drag one foot after the other in some sort of half awaken daze.

walking  myself over to the kitchen,

where the comfort of the carpet turns to a hard touch of wooden floor.

i stand by the coffee maker, and glance out the window.

with eyes adjusting, seeing an overcast sky through a lightly frosted window pane.

always wanting some other season,

the longing for summer formed in my head and i chuckled.

outside the window,  the maple tree leaves rustle as the morning breeze quickly whistled by the glass.

i am thankful that i stand inside.

grabbing a mug off of the hook,  setting  it in the holder;  the coffee starts brewing for my cup.

saturday morning,  seven a.m.  i start the day.

i let you sleep in for a while and  i head for the shower.

pulling  back the brown and mint curtain and turning the knob out and over to the hottest position.

i wait for the hot water to commence,

i brush my teeth,   shave my face and count the grey hairs that sneaked in the night prior.

the heavy steam starts rolling through,  covering the mirror,  and  i get in.

after all is done,  i dry myself off with the soft cotton towel and dress myself  for a cool autumn day.

before i quietly slip out of the room

i leave a kiss on your forehead,  beautiful as you are , and lucky as i am

i fall for you every day

//

i open the side door to the garage, and flip the switch

the fluorescent flickers, buzzes and turns bright.

tripping over all the left over summer garage sale junk, ,

i stumble over this pile that is stuck in stalemate.

i grab the leaf rake from off the wall’s hook,  and lift open the heavy garage door panel.

i walk out on the driveway and look over the yard.

i pick out my starting point which is the lower part of the property where the mighty oak lives.

fifty years, to be exact.  and it’s where the most leaves had fallen.

start with the hardest part and end with the easiest.

there are other trees in the yard, but none that added up to this elder of  trees.

the cool autumn breeze had turned chilly, and i pull the jacket together to zip it up.

continuing  as i am half way through the front yard’s  project,

and there i notice that you are  up and awake –

standing there on the front porch, casually leaning on the post,

in your p.j.’s covered by a thick cotton robe,  you wait for me to notice you.

behind your cup that you sip upon, you give me your inviting good morning smile.

and as you motion me to come join you,  a quick  swarm of leaves brush past

and i walk quickly through the sharp breeze and up to you, there we are-

kiss you good morning, hug me love.

you hand me another cup of coffee.

where there as it warms the hands,

the cool air draws massive steam to the java.

i take another sip and head back to the project at hand.

because you hate the cold,  you head back in quickly,

oh! but love it from the comfort of the warm window inside.

i smirk and rake till i’m done.

leaves headed to their new home  in the compost pile they sit,

where they will contribute to a springtime renewal.

i look around and take note of all the other pre-winter chores i have to get done.

i write them down, tuck the list in my back pocket and save them for another day.

lunchtime.

i head in, and see that you are already steps ahead of me,

and surprising me with lunch already awaiting on the table

i go and freshen up

splashing water to the face and up to the elbows, i wash up.

i look in the mirror, still bothered by the grey hair count.

you laugh as you tell me that you like it, and that it makes me  look distinguished.

i give a quiet sigh and an unseen roll of the eye follows.

eating our lunch and relaxing on the couch,

we make plans for the rest of the day,

a grocery store run,  a movie madness afternoon fun.

lazy saturday afternoon.

we never leave the house,

never leaving the comfort of each others arms under the quilted blanket.

and within the first fifteen minutes of the first movie, one autumn saturday we shared,

simply, we shared falling asleep in an afternoon nap . . . . . .

 

 

c. 2013, 2014 bgw

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