The Moment; peepers are a peeping

You found the email where he had written the recipe. His recipe. Reconstructed from a margarita in Sedona and it feels foreign to you to get down the cocktail shaker, the Reposado tequila, the Grand Mariner. You squeeze the lime, coat the glass edge, run it through salt.  You feel a sensation. Is it anticipation?

You pause to slip on a swimsuit. The hot tub beckons and although you avoid it at dusk when he travels, tonight you can't resist.  Tonight, it is spring. The peepers by the stream are telling you so.  Swimsuit and towel in place, you add ice and shake, being sure to breakdown the agave nectar...beautiful plant honey.

The hot tub cover slides back and you are in.  It is hot, your body pauses, nerves sending data, but then there is a visible welcoming of your body to this heat and you settle in, relax back, and melt.  You had paired the bluetooth speakers to your iPod and the Grateful Dead spills forth, Box of Rain.  The jets are off, and the water has become reflective. You see the stately oaks and locust from the back property line near the stream ripple in the watery mirror. You so often forget that there is a stream. Muddied constantly by a local quarry, it is hardly picturesque.  But the peepers. Yes! The peepers.  Chirping. Chirping. Chirping.

Perhaps the tequila is enabling, but a sensation is building. Sensual. Whole. Healthy. You feel it in your spine. You are quiet. Every part of you is still.  The wind rustles your hair and you laugh. Smile breaks your lips. You are alive. You are here. You are o.k.

You want it to last, this bliss, so you stop sipping the drink; but the water temperature is 103 and you feel your blood boiling. Why can't it last? The pounding starts and you have to flee what once was the refuge.  You quickly do the required maintenance and slip inside.  You sit and write.  Some moments need capturing.  This doesn't do it justice, but you know that what you want to write is Thank You.  So you do.

Thank you for this moment.

You finish your last sip of the margarita and hit 'publish'.