By: James Dubeau
“That smell is just intoxicating,” Mike said as Sharon walked past him. His bowl of cantaloupe in front of him was half empty.
“Thank you,” she smiled. Her hair was still wet from the shower, scents wafted through the air filling the kitchen in a veil of flowers and springtime freshness that were mixed with soft scents of caramel. She searched the cabinets for a moment, opening one then another.
“What is it that you seek, dear?”
“That capsule of basil, I was thinking of scrambled eggs for breakfast.”
“You mean this one here?” Mike asked with a whimsy smile. “Your cataracts must be acting up again.”
“How could I see it with your newspaper strewn about the counter top. One would think the paper was indigenous to the counter top savannah. That it creats shelter for the wild spices that roam the granite plains.”
“Here, let me clear a space for your breakfast safari,” Mike chuckled as he handed over the basil and kissed Sharon on the cheek.