The Times

“Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.” Benjamin Franklin

The night, when she changed out her black textured stilettos for her perfectly contoured sandals, for a trip to the market. Freshly sliced meats, blocks of infused cheese, tossed edamame salad, soft pears, warm indian bread and sparkling sips. Arriving home, placing all of her delicious finds on smooth white plates and bowls, arranged on the warm wooden tray. Hustling to clean her home of packed boxes, newly arrived furniture, and the mundane of the day, into a glimpse of the home it was once, before it became a house. Always, greeting him with the most eager kiss and longing heart. They ate with an agape love.

The morning, when they woke up slowly. Again, and again. The sunrise peaking through the window, pairing with a morning grey. A glimpse of him, slowly smiling at the pup resting at her feet. Pulling the pups close, they played and they played. Their small family, loving each and every one, over and over. Talks of plans for the day, possibilities for the days, promises for the day. They met the morning grey with a freshly pressed collar, slim denim & pearls for her, gingham, dark wash & sandals for him. They awakened their morning with warm lattes and afternoon salads at the local coffee shop. Talks of politics, of news, and then of love. They frolicked the town, picking out their favorites to take home. Finding a local bakery, hidden in a familiar place, they pointed to their favorites and exchanged coins for a paper bag, filled with the most desirable sweets, that couldn’t wait until they arrived home. They played together, hours and hours, of new games that entertained them, until the sun said good day. They threw the whitest of powder on the warm brown stone, rolling out the fresh dough. Meats, fruits, sauces, they placed them on the oven stained stones, and watched as they baked. Sipping and devouring, they finished the night in his arms, watching endless movies.

The afternoon, when they arrived in the quaintest and familiar town to celebrate his mother. Family, friends, new and old. southern comforts and sweet iced tea. Gathering the babes by the hands, walking down stone streets, holding a small pup that needed a home, smiling at the train depot…thinking of all of the loves that kissed hello & farewell….finding small wooden toys at the festival, picking out his favorite to take home. Saying goodbye to his family, and hello to the hum of the engine and to sweet sleep, until they could celebrate her mother. Warm, buttery fish, cool slaw & honey biscuits. She set the table, with old familiar patterns and clothes, for the loves that could pair and celebrate together. Sweets, cards & settlements, ended the night. Oh so late, and oh so satisfying. Falling sleep, again & again, each time his arm touched her.

The morning, when she awoke, as if on clouds.

“This is life,” she thought. “To love those, and to be loved. To know who gives love, in this very hour.”