The Lodge

Cool air on my skin, a canopy of leaves, the morning call of birds, the click click of the keys, a morning writer indulges. I eagerly anticipated enjoying this morning moment at our friends’ place. Now it is here.

I sip my rooibos tea. Two joggers grind the gravel on the path below. The voices of morning strollers along the creek carry up to the canopy of leaves shrouding the deck where I write. The hum of more distant traffic intrudes when I let it.

We're not in the country but an inner city area. Yet with the large deck, trees, creek and country paths we feel as though we have escaped the city for the weekend. M calls our friends' place 'The Lodge' and so it is as we enjoy their morning deck.

M reads. I sneak a peek at him. I thought not. He stares into the space above his page. He notices my glance, winks at me and drops his eyes to his page. Our friends and their daughter sleep in. Their son is sleeping over with his friend next door. M and I are done sleeping; we revel in the waking of the day.