These are my favorite kinds of mornings:
Water on the air
Scent of wet dirt
The thing about this kind of morning is that I could be anywhere.
If I sit still long enough, just sit in my own memory, you are there with me. You are always driving. My head is leaned back against the rest. We are both laughing, and I look over at you, and you are looking at me. Coy.
As if you know it won’t last, but you keep that secret to yourself.