Still The One

I actually did brush my teeth, only to return to a still warm bed, she's attending that wedding, so far away I could have, but won't, a companion here, while she's away, toasting nuptials. Knut's Honda just started up, four stroke, noisiest around, but reliable he says, starts at.. you guessed it, the first try. Every time. Sun's up as well, I'm wondering what will be on the breakfast menu, cheesecake, ready to eat, sounds ok, a few more minutes won't hurt, after all, self-employment has its fruits. A leaf breaks loose across the way, from the top of the wattle, Phil's, on its way, undoubtedly, into a pool, clog the leaf basket, encourage algae, it's descending as if in a dream, gee, must be dry as a feather, weightless, perhaps a leaf from outer space, to become a leaf in my book of today. Well, in the end it got there, landing as if to call a finale to its precarious and lazy journey, now it sits, or reclines on a small patch of moss, west side from where the westerlies always blow, nice contrast, I say, and soft as well, as I drift off again, a self-employed, and indulgent dreamer, keeper of the fort. I see the leaf turn into, no doubt about it, the one who is attending and cajoling overseas, hugging the Nutrasweets, cousins and all manner of beautiful people, doing their sworn duties and niceties. Like music, the Honda sings in the distance and I smile, realising that she is still the one.