A Day in the Life

I wake up to the first pale blue light of the sunrise peeping through the window.

The smell of lavender and cedar delights my first breath.

The air is cold, but the covers are warm.

My white sheets under the white comforter glide over my freshly shaved legs

As I turn over to see the dark profile of the man I love,

And past that, the outline of temperate trees layered against what is soon to be a yellow sky.

I slip out of bed and smile at my favorite little succulent sitting on my nightstand.

My feet pad against the wooden floors on their way to the kitchen,

As my lounge shorts billow around my thighs, making me feel as thin as I’d like to be.

Hot water fills my most sturdy and dependable mug.

I love the smell of peppermint tea.

I sip and I think and I gaze out the bay,

As my fingers tousle the hem of my t-shirt.

Today is Saturday.

That means pancakes,

Because who doesn’t like dessert for breakfast?

The rich batter sizzles under the stove light,

And the scent of vanilla begins its journey through our little house.

I stack the pancakes up high onto heavy and colorful plates

Because they taste better that way.

And I pour fresh maple syrup into my favorite tiny pitcher.

The best part is watching it catch the sunlight as it is drizzled onto the fluffy tower.

The glasses of orange juice match the sunflowers on the table,

Which match the golden sunlight now pouring into the windows.

I dump the dishes into the sink,

And rush back to put on my swimsuit before the sun finishes its morning ascent.

I slide open the back door.

It opens so smoothly it doesn’t make a sound.

The morning air is chilly and threatens to undo my fresh shave.

But I quickly trod over the cobblestones,

And climb the stairs to the wooden hot tub that tries to blend in with the scenery.

I slowly dip in, as my skin tingles, the warmth opening up every pore.

My muscles thank me (yesterday’s workout was a doozy).

The deep water meets my waist, standing up.

I sit in the light blue foam, and let the bubbles do their soothing work.

The steam escaping into the air tries to blend in

With the mist hovering over the distant mountains.

I don’t know how much time passes.

I stand up with the sun,

And wrap myself in a thick towel, three times my small size.

The shower pressure is glorious.

It beats down on my hair, and beats down on the stone

Chasing humidity and salt down the drain.

I slip on my favorite pair of ripped jeans; they don’t feel like jeans anymore.

I slide my half-rimmed glasses over my nose.

Orange fuzzy socks get pulled over the spearmint lotion that is rubbed on my feet.

I steal into the living room and turn on the fireplace,

It crackles to life and coats the room with atmosphere.

I grab the bowl of fresh fruit from our vastly colorful refrigerator,

And plop down on my chair in the living room,

Where my journal and laptop, my two best friends,

Are waiting for me.

By the light of the three-wick I always keep in stock,

I read, and I write, and I journal the day away.

I believe I was told we are going to shoot some photos later.

The light walls and many windows are an inspiration as I work.

The day is already good enough to come to a close.

The sun is starting to warm the day to a perfect 60 degrees.

I dig through my cedar lined drawers.

They are filled with a 10-year fashion history;

Remnants of countless trends that have come and gone:

Flowers, cutoffs, old flannels, a sea of denim.

I find my favorite sports bra that fits just right,

And the tank top that makes me feel slim.

I strap my phone to my arm,

Press play on my favorite playlist,

And hop out the door.

My form says hello to the world,

As my feet push pavement behind me.

The cool air is enough to make my throat burn,

But also to dry the sweat from my body.

I race past blurs of autumn.

The same breeze that stirs up the leaves

Dances in and out of my arms as they shift rhythmically.

So what if my speed changes with every musical turn in my ears?

I feel vital.

I slow to a walk.

I walk for a while; thinking; breathing in life.

It is time to go home,

But I’ve made it to town.

I can’t leave without stopping by my workplace.

I wait for the stoplight,

And cross under the tiny wooden sign that is jammed between two larger buildings;

Blink and you miss it.

The small bell dings to announce a visitor.

The sweetest aroma fills my nostrils.

Deep, profound.

Coffee beans.

I make my way through the cluttered tables, none of which look the same.

They’re hosting an assortment coffee and tea drinkers,

Who host an assortment of Doc Martens, messenger bags, and pastel hair.

I peer under the low hanging bulbs at the counter;

They make the espresso machines look shinier.

I order my favorite drink in the world:

“A plain latte, please.”

My finger runs along the cracks of the brick wall,

As I observe how none of the coffee shop goers are taking photos.

This is what they do every day.

I sip on the last of my steamed milk and espresso,

As I write a silly message on the chalkboard and walk out the door.

The sweat and the sunset are working together to cool me down.

Chill bumps rise on my skin.

It is time to go home.

I sit in a large sweatshirt that feels like a gentle hug.

My hair thrown up without care.

The smell of meat and vegetables on the grill wafts in from the outdoors,

Along with the cool autumn air.

He is far better at cooking than me.

He slips through the door with two heaping steaming plates,

His face is stoic,

But the slight curve of his mouth and the downward point of his eyes

Reveal he is proud of his creation.

The smell is mouth watering.

The taste is exotic.

He puts his shiny collection of spices and marinades to good use.

We turn on the beautiful television we never have time to use.

But today is Saturday.

The colors are bright and glossy.

The orange glow illuminates the shelves that hold my Harry Potter books, my plant collection,

And our blessed goldfish we never found a name for.

The brisk air is still drifting in from the open door.

Incense burns; jasmine and sandalwood.

The smoke billows; enchanting, hypnotic.

His sock feet tangle with mine.

My head finds a pillow in his large sweatshirt.

Smelling his shampoo, his skin, his cologne,

Makes my breathing deep and even.

Deep and even.

I never finish movies.

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