It’s Sunday morning; I sit on
the porch sipping coffee; I
watch cars pull out of drive-
ways — people on their way to
worship and then lunch. The
next-door neighbor whips the
wheel barrow around his yard.
He went to Mass yesterday after-
noon. I look down at the book
in my hand knowing I will finish
the mystery today but for now
I just think of last night and the
scent of you. I inhale deeply of
the sweet morning mist as it floats
down the dune, soon to be burned
off by the summer sun; I sigh a
deep sigh of satisfaction and
gratitude and just the hint of
an ache.