Sunday morning, and Richard and I sit on the couch over coffee and Baroque music.
Our living room provides comfort with cream and burgundy and dark wood. Clutter from projects and plant catalogs litter the coffee table as garden planning helps us through the winter days. I sit on the couch next to Richard with a lap desk on my lap, tapping on the keys of a Microsoft Surface. Words come slowly today; maybe the coffee hasn't taken effect yet.
The beans that Richard roasted came from Malawi, and the
coffee brews up rich and brown sugar sweet with a slight herbal note.
Yo-Yo Ma plays Bach on cello over a set of old yet functional speakers.
Chucky, the big butterscotch-colored cat, races upstairs chasing an
unseen sprite. Me-Me, grey tabby and white, regards us with her huge,
wondrous green eyes. Snowy, pitch-black and ironically named, sits in
front of the fake fireplace warming herself by electric heat. Girlie-Girl, calico patched, demands something. Richard shrugs his shoulders and tells the cat he has no idea what she wants.
I light a candle, and the scent of sandalwood wafts to me. I drink my second cup of coffee and think about the seeds cold-stratifying in the refrigerator and other seeds in their packets waiting for the right time to be introduced to soil and water. It's winter outside, and the weather forecast says it will get even colder, but for now I sit in my warm house on a Sunday morning.
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