Friday, September 6, 2013
September Morning
Her window was open - that's why she caught it. The scraps of summer had
begun to blow away, but she had not closed the windows yet. On this
morning she sat at her desk in her little office, half listening to the
familiar sounds of her husband's morning kitchen routine below, and
found a slow smile relaxing her face and releasing something - something
that had been waiting, unknown, unseen. The scent of wood smoke wafted
through her window. The pellet stove was on. He must have turned up the
thermostat. Salt of beach air on summer nights past. Comfort of the
cotton sweatshirts slightly gritty with the sand, scratching against
sun-tendered skin. But also the promise of early evenings and of candles
lit in the dusky winter. Both the summer and the winter rode into her
office, carried on that smell. She knew that there would be another
sputtering blast of summer heat before she could settle into the damp
and cool of her home in the rain forest - before the pellets would heat
the house every day - but on that September morning, she woke again. The
air carried the scent of her heart.
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