What A Wonderful Day It Has Been III

What a wonderful day it has been.
I sat with Peter, Jayne’s husband,
lunching with Kate, Jayne’s friend,
and Aaron and his Richard, Jayne’s son
and son-in-law.
Jayne was somewhere, painting.
My Barbara, too.
An accidental meeting between us,
way, way, way high up
in a small Tuscan village.
The food looked fabulous.
I wasn’t hungry, so I passed.
I wasn’t thirsty, either,
but I drank their wine.
We talked,
then we walked,
and talked some more,
about nothing, mostly.
Not even about Jayne.
Or Barbara.
We rode down
to our hotel town
in a bright red funicular
and never once thought to
sing Volare.
What a wonderful day it has been.

What A Wonderful Day It Has Been

What a wonderful day it has been.
After a long, long, long flight,
filled, filled, filled with Tahiti-bound Parisians,
we awoke in our own bed,
clean sheets and familiar pillows,
Roxie and Brutus purring
between our legs.
We heard the little golf course mowers,
softer than Italian Vespa’s.
We drank Starbucks coffee
and ate Cheerios with soy milk,
hard bread and Nescafe a fading memory.
No tour bus,
no tourists,
no special scenic side trips.
Traveling is nice.
Being home is nicer.
What a wonderful day it has been.