The Almost Perfect Morning
Wake in the cool dawn.
Snuggle-spoon for a few minutes, soft and sleepy.
Pad out to the quiet house. Stretch while the kettle hums and hisses.
Milky tea and a bite of a novel or perhaps a spot of writing.
Breakfast and a chat, plan our day and put things to rights. Prepare for what’s ahead with lunches and laundry and post.
Dress partway, but pack the rest.
A hot, fast cycle on leafy streets – just long enough to feel wind on your face and wave to kids on buses, not long enough there’s a shower at the other end.
Pull off at the park just before the office for a nip from the drinking fountain and bare feet in the sandy lake surf while you catch your breath.
Tootle the last block or two, lock up your beat up bike with the hoards of fancy fixed gears and ostentatious baskets. Wander through the throngs of excited student, up the brick steps and say good morning to Phyllis, your unweidly philodendron. Pull on your blazer, let down your hair, before settling in to edit the magazine.
Some days I have it so good.
Que Sera Sara? 