In the morning

He walks into the bathroom. It is too early to go for a walk... at 4.31 am. He decides to shave. No. That will make too much noise. He heads to the kitchen to make coffee. In the cupboard, the coffee jar is not to be found. He thinks about going back to bed but he has the jitters. No. The TV is a better option. He plonks down on the sofa and flicks the TV on. A straight red line appears against a mute black screen. It is too much. No sleep. No coffee. And now no TV. He throws the remote control down and decides to go for a walk.

Back in the bedroom, Lana is asleep, curled up peacefully under the soft white covers, her head tilted toward her chest, like a droopy flower hanging over its stem on a hot summer day. Her dark, thick lashes just visible against her pale face that matches the wanton hint of light filtering into the room. She is a moonbeam. He needs no other light than Lana in his life. Pants on. T-shirt on. Sneakers? Where are they? He can't find them but does not give up on the walk. An old pair of boots he finds at the back of the closet will do.

Outside the air is misty, white and beautiful. It is cool, too, like ice cubes moving quickly over your skin. He wraps his arms toward his middle to ward off the shiver. And then he thinks of the night he just spent with Lana. Making love to her is special. She gives herself to him completely, without holding back unlike other women he's known. He can tell the fake from the real. Lana is the only woman where he has the feeling of her body joining his, melting into his at the height of the lovemaking. It is a surreal experience. Oh shit! The keys. I forgot the keys. Now I have to wake Lana to get back into the house. What about walking until she wakes? No. That's three hours away.

He walks for an hour, and then around a quarter to six, he buzzes the doorbell...hoping the sound won't wake Lana and hoping that it will. A minute passes. He buzzes again and waits. Lana's footsteps drop onto the floor like the sound of a child's small feet pitter-pattering. She is delicious in every way but mostly in her innocence. Her child and woman energy blend together so that she is deeply mature but playful and light at the same time.

"Who is it? Babe, is that you?" Lana's voice questions on the other side of the door.

"Yes, yes. It's me...I'm sorry to wake you..."

The door opens. Lana opens her arms wider and hugs him.

"I left my keys at home..."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just so happy to see you. You had me worried when I didn't see you in bed because I usually hear you go out for a walk." She gushes, and kisses him on the neck, softly and slowly like a butterfly taking its nectar from flower blossoms. He melts, and makes a mental note to forget his keys more often.

"Let's go to bed." She murmurs. He makes a bold type, large font mental note to forget his keys more often.

Two lovemaking sessions later, he rises from bed to get ready for work. The alarm clock shows 6.30 am...the time he usually comes back from his walk. He shaves. He finds the coffee and enjoys two strong cups. The first with milk and two sugars. The second, black with one sugar. Suited up, laptop in toe, fitness bag with sneakers inside (that's where they were all along), he makes his way to Lana still snug in bed. He loves seeing her this way...but work is calling. A small, sweet pang takes hold of his heart when he kisses her goodbye but it doesn't last too long. It is taken over by the feeling that he has the rest of his life to enjoy many moments with her. Plus he loves his job and can't wait to get into the office to present his ideas on a new creative pitch for a big media client. The job is his second passion.

The moments in the morning when Lana has the house to herself are pure pleasure. After a shower, or sometimes even a bath if she has extra time, she puts on a soft cotton robe, wraps her hair up turban-towel style, brews tea in a teapot that is elegant and refined like herself, prepares muesli and yoghurt, and carries the tray of breakfast goodies over to the sofa where she sits amidst the pillows and treats herself to queenly moments of peace, taken alongside the morning TV news shows. She loves these shows, the presenters with their great big smiles who look like they have the best job in town but really if you think a bit deeper they must be up at 3.00 am just to get into the office on time! Not a job she'd like but one she respects because they give her a morning fix and get her into the swing of the day.

She switches the TV on but there's a strange red line across a black screen. Hmmm. She tries another channel. Nothing changes. She tries all the channels -- this time her fingernail digging into the channels button. The red line is still there. The remote mustn't be working. So she walks over to the TV to change the channel the old fashioned way. Come on, don't bust up now. Still the same red line and black screen. Okay, this can wait. She wasn't planning on an interrupted peace this morning. I have to get dressed for work. Red can fix it tonight.