It was a cold, cloudy day and I had
slept in.
I woke up alone, rolling over in bed
Scrunching down deeper in the soft
comforter
And closing my eyes.
It would have been so nice to drift off
Into the lightness of sleep
But my head and tummy were both
demanding tea
And I had no choice but to obey.
I was an addict.
The hardwood floors were chilly,
This was sweater and socks weather.
And after I set my water to boiling,
I lit a fire in the family room,
breathing in that beautiful scent.
Usually the crisp, cool air gives me
incredible energy,
But today …
I just wanted to curl up under an
Native American blanket
I had bought on my travels in Arizona,
And read my latest, most favorite book.
The sofa was calling my name.
No computer, no phone, no television …
Just me and a book.
I got out my favorite tea service,
An antique set handed down from my
Grandmother
On my Father's side.
And was mesmerized by the scent of the
Darjeeling steeping.
Back in the family room, I was happy
for the rare quiet,
And put on a vinyl album of Chet
Baker's best.
The trees in the yard were all showing
a magnitude of color,
It was a work of art.
The tea was ready and I brought in the
service,
A little honey and a cup.
Heaven
I breathed it in, it was magic, it was
Zen.
I was at peace, inside myself, outside
myself.
Peace.
Suddenly, noise violently fractured my
calm.
The front door slammed, heavy footsteps
walked across the foyer,
And into the family room.
I closed my eyes, thinking he'd get the
picture.
How could he not? It was painted
perfectly before him.
“Hey ...” he waited and I sat
perfectly still, eyes closed.
“Babe?” that voice, a voice I have
been listening to for more than twenty years.
I just couldn't ignore it.
I looked up
at him, eyebrows lifted, hoping he'd buy a clue.
“Wanna?” He asked, and all
I could see were those blue eyes ...
Blue eyes with the most mischievous
smile.
I laughed, but I couldn't resist.
I was addicted.
