In the early hours,

Morning of a late summer day,

The fog hung softly in yellow light,

A moist dew hung on the window sill,

white chipping paint in an old kitchen,

The last of the crickets finishing notes,

 

Crack and sizzle,

the aroma of salt and eggs,

Soon there will be alarm clocks,

Soon there will be yawns and stretches,

Creaks of stairway steps,

thumps down the hall,

into the door for breakfast,

 

But now for a few moments,

alone with the cool crisp waves of atmosphere,

playing at the steam trails from her mug,

staining her dirty blonde locks with the smell,

taking in the morning one sip at a time,

 

She had not slept,

the night at the observatory looking at stars,

riding her bike home through the cold nights of September,

She came home to a black house,

Some shadow blocking out the wisps and points of light in the sky,

Only the windows shimmered,

reflecting the setting of Scorpio,

 

Waiting in bed, the master bedroom,

pillow adorned with black curls,

Soundly asleep, her wife was dreaming,

4:30 am, The cook crawled in bed,

A smooth crinkling sound of moving sheets

Intertwining her legs, scooting closer,

nostrils lost within her wife's scent,

 

Soon, the Sun would come up,

its rays rolling over hills,

to touch the back of the house,

But now she took in her morning,

one inhale at a time,

 

An annoying cacophony of shattered sleep,

the yawns, stretches, and thumps,

came working their ways down the hall,

 

First, a blonde haired boy,

barely 10

in a blue sleeved baseball style t-shirt,

And pj pants adorned with rocket ships,

 

Then, a brown haired girl,

nearly 12,

in an oversize shirt for a nightgown,

 

“Good morning mom.”

Their kisses, tender pecks on her cheek,

Coffee drunk, breakfast cooked,

eggs with pancakes,

chocolate chip,

blueberry,

the girl likes pineapples

 

And finally, down came the black curly haired wife,

shorter than the cook,

Stretching and yawning,

one arm outstretched, another rubbing her eye,

She smiled,

“Good morning beautiful,

When did you get home?”

 

The cook smiled back,

moving forward, a kiss on the lips,

“Just in time.”

She smirked,

and handed her wife a plate,

 

Soft giggles,

smiles,

and love,

The cook took in her life,

one morning at a time