Breathing In

This morning my kitchen was barely light when I came into it. Sleeping like a rock used to be one of my best things. Apparently my new thing is waking as the sun does. Perhaps it was the lack of light that caused me to notice it so strongly. The lilacs. The smell of the lilacs. The lilacs on top of the refrigerator have dropped their scent into the kitchen all night long, and they smell like the outdoors, and spring's rain, and the cool of the day. They fill my head and the scent runs down my arms and drips off the tips of my fingers. This morning I stood in here and breathed it in until I was dizzy with it.

Now, a couple of hours later, I've sent my husband off to conquer the world again today, and the peelings from the orange I cut up for his salad are on the cutting board in the middle of the room, combining the sweet acid of orange smell with the deep water of the lilac smell. It's enough to knock me silly.

I've made coffee in here this morning too. Good coffee. Deep, dark, rich, fresh, gorgeous coffee, ground into the morning in a fine dust, and added to the kitchen's scents. The undertone of every morning. The outline filled in today with the sharpness of a sweet orange and the liquid of a lilac.

This morning it is good to breathe in.

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