After sleeping late then lingering in bed discussing the happenings of recent days, letting the cool air breeze around us as we watched the new birch trees sway, sway, sway, Tom and I decided to get up and have brunch. Right then. On a Thursday.
We've been moving too fast lately, hurrying here and there, doing this and that. So we stopped. And we brunched. I should have taken a picture but, no, I'm glad I didn't. It was private. On our new patio surrounded by various sized pots full of flowers, herbs, and a jolly little hemlock tree.
It felt, to us, like we'd slipped away to Italy. Our little outdoor tile table that Ben gave us when he moved soon became laden with a tea pot full of Jasmine tea, small Japanese tea cups, a glass bowl of just-right cantaloupe chunks, plates supporting scrambled eggs with fresh spinach and scallions, toast with organic local strawberry preserves, and some of Cassie's peanut-butter chocolate-chip cookies.
We laughed. Out loud and hearty. We ate. We sat back in our chairs, set down our forks, noticed the blue sky, the flowers, each other. Forks back in hand, knives spreading red berries on toast, bodies leaned in to catch every word, every wink, every gleam of the eye.
The kids instinctively stayed away, shyly smiling at their parents.
From behind our fresh green and blossoming foliage we heard the neighborhood living, moving, whistling through the lovely late morning.
Settled us right down.
The rest of the day has been most pleasant.
Serendipity. One of my favorite words.