Breaking the Fast

 It starts inexorably slowly...the way the light in the room subtly leaks like a spill of a whiteness, the flickering of eyelids and the quietness that remains.

Untangling from you, covered in layers of cottons and you pull away and turn to the other side and continue to slumber...it is actually my favorite part of the start...not because I am pulling away but because I spent the entirety of the evening alongside of you and I get to do it again in a few hours.

I can usually tell the hour by the height of the sun behind the trees...before 7 it hasn't risen above them...after 7 it has...it is rare that I miss that window unless it's raining and clouds prevent that sun-clock..

The long pad into the kitchen...my feet quiet and the house feels like itself is still trying to remain asleep...no lights, no noises...

The smell of coffee brewing is the first hint that the evening is over...there is a specific brew that you enjoy and I usually have to go to multiple stores before I find the rare brand...but that little effort, that tiniest of gestures is just a reminder for you.

I usually get about half an hour alone before you emerge and I usually try to stay still and listen to the morning from the screened in porch...the roosters from a nearby farm announcing that it is time to get up...a donkey brays and slowly, like the stretch of a cat...the day begins.

I love the waking you...the tussled hair, the slow blink of your eyes, the husk in your voice...the way you come at me in a straight-line to accept your cup and then kiss me softly...you are not quite fully awake, what the military would call Before Morning Nautical Twilight...your cotton shirt hanging so...

You drink with both hands, pulling it up to your mouth and sipping...you glance outside to the outdoor kitchen where I have started several slices of bacon and you arch your eyebrow a bit.

BLTs is all I say and you smile behind the cup.

I've already also turned on the Sonos...finding the Gregory Alan Isokov channel and his familiar folksy voice becomes the soundtrack to our daybreak.

I am outside tending to the skillet of sizzling bacon and I feel you come up behind me, one arm around my front and you rest your chin on my shoulder...you smell of sleep and coffee and I know that in a few minutes your mind will take over and you'll get caught up in your day.

But for now...in this sweet quiet moment we are intertwined again, wanting to merely pause the sweep of the minute hand on the clock and feel the rhythm of your breathing against me.