Editor's note: The line, "I do remember the tea." was from a friend's blog. When I read that line an image appeared in my mind and I wrote the story on the spot as it came to me with almost no editing.
I remember feeling the early morning sun on the side of my face. It was very warm but a mild breeze kept its heat from becoming uncomfortable. The other memory that remains firmly in my mind is the way the yellow sunlight made the red hair on the right side of her head give off a warm orange glow and the glint in her eyes, eyes that I could not ignore. They seemed to be of an orangey-brown color that matched the tea she drank. Every time she put the cup down I could not keep from looking into it to see the change in hue as she emptied it sip by sip. I recall the soothing brown of her sweater. The one that made me want to hug her to feel the warmth of the wool and the feel of her body beneath. I remember telling her how much I loved the way she looked in that sweater the night before and how she modeled it for me after our playful but passionate coupling that melded our hearts and souls. A bonding I tried to ignore but our spirits would never forget. Was this all planned? Did she set out to arrange the colors so the scene before me would speak of warmth and comfort? The entire scenario designed to set me at ease? To make me feel like this is my home? Like this is the place I was meant to be, by her side? My God, why even the mourning doves sang a eulogy for the death of my presence.
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