Longing

Saturday morning. 

Longing for 

the smell of muffins already cooling on a tray;

Bread rising on the counter; 

Compost buckets bleaching in the sink;

Vinegar-scented hallway tiles almost dry;

The New Yorker, 

dog-eared, with new  marginalia.

Words to be looked up later, 

and then dropped into conversation

as if they were everyday words.

Beside the computer, a quote or a phrase, ready to be crafted into a blog post.

I'm behind on my blogging, she would say, having set a goal of 1.5 posts per day.

I close my eyes, 

breathe deeply, 

and recapture 

the feeling

of smelling

freshly baked muffins 

cooling on the tray.