When the night scampered off into the wavering hills and left us, morning unpaused itself from the day prior.
Forest canopies, hollowed-out oaks, burly egotistical pines, and woodland creatures all made themselves known once again to the residents of our tiny secluded hamlet.
We awoke together, but I first placed my feet on the wooden bedroom floor and went downstairs to simmer a fresh pot of our favorite brew.
Not too dark.
Without all that bitter chicory.
Flavorful and wholesome.
Geez Louise, I’m beginning to sound like a television commercial.
She joined me downstairs soon after and we shuffled slowly out onto the patio that overlooks our backyard.
Then I began reading to her, as per our welcomed humdrum morning regimen.
Not poems or a classic literature, but an espionage novel that we’d started only two days prior.
The Mediterranean Caper.
We frequently escaped into the written realms of Ian Fleming, Dirk Cussler, John Gardner, all those plot-chasing authors who knew how to setup a certain element of captivating grandeur.
She also likes the other John and his agent who came in from the frigid winter droll as well, but not as much as these guys.
And I hereby concur.
I do so agree.
But when have you ever met a love-struck couple who’s interests are completely aligned?
I’m overjoyed by the commonalities that we share.
To be honest, it’s the tried and true reason why our marriage works so well.
At the beginning and end of the day, we’re just two chickpeas growing slowly old in a tranquil mountaintop town.
© Eric Keegan
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