At my pace, I have been thinking lately 
I should propose more time together.

Now might be good in fact, so I've arranged them,
a pair of chairs, side by side, for you and me, 
on the drop cloth in the living room's center.

Come sit.

I scraped and primed these walls, remember, 
last month; no, two months ago; or three.
They're done now, on a sort of, I admit, slothful schedule, 
but really, it seems to me that someone passing through 
would find a warmth here, a quiet comfort
born of un-rushed effort.

Would you like some tea?

We can talk if you like, in the waning light 
of us, of shades of colors and tints in our other rooms 
in our other houses, during our long, enduring nesting.
Or we could just watch the paint dry.

As I was working, rolling on latex, I mulled how 
each house's story is not about just its surface, 
but also how things weather within. 

And how have we weathered, our houses and us?
Well, I think--thanks in large part to you.

I like the way this Tangerine Mist is getting a luster 
don't you, the way its miniscule bubbles 
are burping away like those in champagne?

More tea?

© by Richard Swanson. 
Used with the author's permission.