Senses

A woman in a cream, satin nightgown glares out the window pane watching the sunrise.  Leaves of crimson, amber and burnt sienna twist and turn as they fall silently to their grave.  The fruit of the trees are no more.  Gone.  Now barren, acorns litter the lawn as the bushy tails of the squirrels wiggle in the air as they forrage along the forest floor.  One by one they load the pouches in their cheeks full of the wholesome nut.  They climb up the trees and anxiously leap amongst the branches until they arrive at their nest where they carefully dispense their bounty.  The wind howls and a cool, crisp breeze filters through the cracks in the window sash invigorating her senses.  She gathers her thoughts and gracefully walks down the stairs towards the kichen.  She fills the kettle up with water and sets it on the stove to boil and heads to the sitting room where she catches a glimpse of a pair of cardinals fly into the nest in the Holly bush outside the picture window. Mezmorized by the flaming red crest and ruby breast of the male coupled with the bright orange beak of the female she's startled by the whisteling kettle as she observes the cloacal kiss. 


Opening the creaking, white cabinet she takes from the shelf a mason jar full of tea bags.  Twisting the silver top off the glass jar she reaches in with her long, slender fingers and pulls out a bag of her favorite, Earl Gray.  Plopping the bag into a proper tea cup she graciously pours the boiled water.  The rose painted cup stands for a minute or two before she decides to remove the swollen soaken bag from the cup and tosses it in the sink.  A smidge of lemon and tea is served.  She walks effortlessly to the parlor where she sits in a high back, Queen Anne style chair that is covered in chartreus fabric embellished with gold dragon flies.  She sips from the dainty cup, left pinky stretched outward to counter balance the weight of the cup as she slurps from the silver trimmed rim just as her mother and grandmother had done before her.


She hears hear husband gentle whisper "I love you" as he kisses the nape of her neck.  She is comforted by the sound of his voice.  She turns to look at him, anticipating the sight of his weathered face only to be surprised when he's not there.  She takes in a deep breathe of air, gasping, winded.  He's gone, long gone, he is no more.  Left only with memories she weeps, the salty tears stream down her cheeks over her upper lip and into her mouth stinging, the taste of regret.