After an late night out, helping make good things happen in the world of local music and community, I woke up this morning with a cold nose and the urge to sit crosslegged at my desk, working on some projects and research. I also woke up with the urge to cook food from the freezer, which is a winter nesting instinct, I think, spurred on by my body's awareness that the ground nearby is no longer giving up fresh produce.
Pulling on jeans and layers of cotton, gathering my hair into a ponytail, I'm arrested by the faint aroma of violets. Then it's gone. Straightening my faded college dorm t-shirt, I catch the floral scent again. I turn my head, and again it's gone. What is this loveliness? What is this fragile, tentative beauty?
And then I realize: it's last night's perfume. Faded by a full evening of order-taking, coffee-pouring, cocoa-mixing, grinning and mingling, head-nodding, hand-clapping, and oh-so-mild (husband-approved) flirting--but still clinging, a memory and a promise.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
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