The Sun would shine and cast a glow upon the grass and leaves in the early morning,
the air would be cool and raise goosebumps on my skin as I stepped out onto the patio,
and the dew would look like diamonds until it evaporated in the rising heat.
Fading shadows will reveal the space in its blooming glory; trees with emerald leaves and citrus fruit, herbs and spices in neat rows with handwritten cards, ivy crawling up the walls, and covering the brick, flowers tilting themselves back to feel the Sun.
I would thread through carefully, relishing the cool grass beneath my feet and fearing a spider will skirt across my skin. One hand tightens the robe I wear over an old shirt and too-long pants, and the other holds a ceramic mug warm with a hot drink, I hope nothing took up residence in the watering can during the night as I pick it up and fill it with from the hose before making my rounds.
I take in each bush and flower and tree as they feed on the light and drink from the water, taking notes on what needs to be pruned and trimmed and picked. I listen to the birds hidden among the branches singing to each other, looking for a lover, and to the cars driving past, catching bits of songs and news their drivers play on their commute. When I see an eight-legged foe, I stop and watch it run and disappear under the lemon tree that will be watered from a distance or when I forget about its new company.
I will sit at the iron table in a slightly uncomfortable matching chair with a worn-out cushion that needs replacing, and drink from my mug and take in the heavy scent of roses and lilies and jasmines mixing with basil and rosemary and thyme. My love will come out, steps as soft as their lips on my forehead, and I will open my eyes and smile, for what is more serene than them in a garden of color and morning light?
They will tease me about the toes of one foot brushing the stone of the patio and the knee of the other pressed against my chest, and I will roll my eyes and hide my amusement by taking a sip of my cold drink. We sit and talk about our dreams from the night, and what flower will go in what vase and which room. The white roses are looking great today, honey, do you want me to take a picture of them for your sister and ask if she wants to come over and paint them red? They will ask, and I will tell them, yes, and we should bring her and her husband some the next we have dinner at their home.
We smile, they go to the roses, and I go inside to wash my empty mug and think about what needs to be done while I put the coffee on for them because they forgot to on their out to me. It's pouring when they return and tell me she's grabbing her paint now and thank me for putting the coffee on. One of us will talk about what we're reading, and the other will listen. We will talk about breakfast and lunch and dinner, and should we invite my sister over tonight? Or should we wait until the other comes to town in a couple of days?
We go on with our day, reading and writing and cooking and falling in love until the moon is out and the hour is late, and we're asleep in bed.
