by Elizabeth Endicott
His alarm never wakes me up. Somehow he slips out of bed, makes coffee, and feeds two chirping cats before tiptoeing in to kiss my forehead. That’s when I stir, and turn into his woody scent, his red beard, his flannel shirt for a hug.
Somehow he slips out of bed, makes coffee, and feeds two chirping cats before tiptoeing in to kiss my forehead.My eyes open and meet the sun reaching up over the apartment buildings across the street. A bunch of eucalyptus hangs drying next to the window and one of our cats stretches against the windows panes to try and touch it.
My husband leaves with his bike to make his chilly way to work, and I finally swing my legs out of our platform bed. The cats attempt to con me into giving them a second breakfast as I poach an egg and pick out a dress to wear. After five years of living out of a backpack and working seasonally, having a closet with all of my clothes on display is still such a delight.
We met scrubbing toilets in Antarctica, and fell quickly in love. We traveled as much as we could during the off season - New Zealand, Vietnam, India, Costa Rica, Everest Base Camp, etc. Traveling provided an endless source of education and adventure, but this past Spring it was time to turn the chapter. We signed a lease in Denver, bought all the plants, and brought our kitties home. Every morning the pure contentedness of having this new, stationary home greets me with the sun.