Three alarms, one ironic, one aromatic and a third that is only essential if we talk very late into the night and are found sleep-deprived at 5:30. Brubeck, Desmond, Morello induce us to Take Five at five fifteen, a jazzy irony not lost on our sleepy heads. Ten minutes later the ritual of filter, water, beans and timer launches into a jet engine grind one flight down, set each evening before. Your hand reaches for mine, or some days, the other way around; the perfection of another day with you. Your feet hit the floor as you reach for the blat, blat, blat clock that would be; insult averted. And you bring coffee, not a mystery, except that of which cup you choose – yellow sunshine, blue cobalt, or the I Love You / I Love You More set. Fifteen stolen minutes with the curtains drawn back to face east and see the sun rising or the rain falling, the hawk and jays in combat, and you and I, harmony of souls.
The rhythm of days
Seasons play out before us
Perennial are we
© Jilly’s 2016
June 8, 2005 Fernwood Botanical Gardens For C Join us over at dVerse!