Dishes {31 Days}
Every morning I hear him, water running and plates rattling. The coffee grinder whirs to life and dishes are stacked neatly in the drying rack. As I come around the corner, I see his back as he bends over the sink, scrubbing at a tough pan or wiping a glass.
It’s a small thing, a tiny act of love, one I used to perform when I lived with roommates, up early before the house stirred, making coffee and washing dishes from the night before.
But now I get to wander into the kitchen barefoot and belated, and maybe sneak my arms around his waist when his back is to me. The coffee pot gurgles and hisses, signaling a new day creeping up on us, but for a moment, we can stand in the kitchen and listen to it before lunches are packed and the day rushes on. That clean sink and those drying pots and pans make me feel his love, all the way from the top of my rumpled, curly morning hair to the bottoms of my bare feet.