Basil Morning

I got up out of bed this morning before the sun was up, the alarm buzzing the BBC at me. In the darkness, with the morning chill, I could almost convince myself I was someplace else. Which sounded nice at the time. Lavender soap, minty toothpaste. A kiss to my sleeping boy and I was out the door. To write. To see a new friend. We got to the coffee shop, 6:15, she after working all night, me with sleep in my eyes still. Nothing opened until 7:00, so we sat on a bench and I confessed my preppy dark secrets (I was once in a sorority...). When the coffee shop opened, the early morning latte, the city waking up, I sighed. The farmer's market started to come alive.

I met Partner at a house I would love to own, and hope that somehow, by the grace of God, we're able to pull it off. Again, a smaller house than my master bedroom, but feels perfect. I see myself on the back porch, steaming mugs of coffee and fresh scones. Friends dropping by. Barbecues on the porch. Cricket playing b-ball with the neighbors basketball hoop, placed communally at the end of the cul-de-sac. I would walk to L's house, drink margaritas we make with the Snoopy Snow Cone Maker, and stumble home the four blocks. I'll go for long walks in the snow and come home, strip off my clothes and sidle into the sauna in the basement.

Back to the market, New Friend there again, and the scent of late summer produce. The basil like a tonic, a sharp tonic. Heirloom tomatoes. The promise of tomatillo salsa in the evening at wine night with more new friends. The sun just filling up the entire blue sky and babies, their round faces bright in the morning sun. No one is crabby yet. We are all fresh and new in the late August Michigan summer, refreshed by our cold sleep, the air subtly changing, seeping into our rooms, making us snuggle under the duvet, reach with our feet to loved ones. So even if we do wake up, wishing for a moment we were someplace else, the day promises to deliver us home with no regrets, making us want to never leave, to gather everyone around in a feast of sunshine and green leaves, basil scents filling the air.