a kiss

4am.  I wake to Tenth Avenue North, rocking next to my bed through my cell phone speaker.  Slide my finger across the screen to silence the music, and stumble...er, roll, rather, out of the bottom bed of the triple bunk.  Stumble to the kitchen; mindlessly start the coffee, and as that precious liquid starts to brew I step out into the garage and rev the engine of the grainmill.  Thus starts a typical Thursday, the day of the Farmer's Market.

So why am I writing about it?  If it has been such a typical morning, why would I bother to draw any attention to it?

I was adding flour to a batch of cinnamon swirl; the bosch mixer going round and round...that's when I felt it.  A kiss.  It came in the form of a subtle, gentle, and cool breeze.  It brushed my cheeks, caressed my forehead, kissed my lips.  I looked up.  Where did that come from?  From inside the house?!?  Then I saw.  My dad had just opened the front door. 

Here I am now.  Still in my pajamas, I confess, but I didn't want to lose my excitement befrore writing it out.  It's been in the upper 80s and 90s here; humid, stifling...  But as I write this out, I am sitting in the lazy boy next to the open sliding glass door.  I feet the warmth of the sun's beams on my feet, the cool breeze on my face.  Since we moved down south when I was about eleven, I miss more of the cool weather--my memories of fall are my fondest.  Raking Leaves, jumping into piles.  Collecting leaves, marveling at the color.

This morning, when that drift kissed my face, it all came back.

That first breeze of fall brought a gentle whisper,

Do you love it, Beloved?