Morning mist hovers above the emerald blades of African grass creating soft skirts around the base of the Sumac trees. Branches dance above the white billows. A morning gift to the sun.
I’ve come to enjoy my waitress, Eunice. She greets me with a warm smile and says, “I’ll bring your coffee, ma’am, although it sounds more like “mom” clipped quite short.
I decide to sit down closer to the trees, but at least three feet away from the short wall topped with wire, and the sign that reads “warning 7000 volts electric fence. The waterfall at the pool is reminiscent of my pond and fountain in Nevada.
Breakfast is a buffet. This morning, the colorful draped tables are crowded with a vegetable casserole, actually more like a crustless quiche, poached eggs, fresh sautéed mushrooms, two kinds of plump sausages and a beef something. French toast is available as well as tiny croissants, cake donuts, and several kinds of pastries. Platters of fresh fruit glisten next to a tray of cheeses.
I decide on brie, apricot yogurt, hot roasted cashews and sweet grapes.
I pour the coffee from the little pot that Eunice brought to me, and the hot milk from the steel pitcher. I’m wishing I could stay here all day and stare at the storks and listen to the laughing bird. I’m sure that’s not its name, but it makes the sound, and it makes me smile.
If I could, I would sit here at the bamboo table and write lone lines of description and later weave them into a story of soul and emotion. I would gather up the sounds and scents and carry them over to the grandfather koi, and ask his opinion. I believe his acknowledgement with a tail wiggle or abrupt swimming away would tell me all I need to know. Depending on his answer, I might have to return to Eunice, fresh coffee, the laughing bird, and begin again.