Tonight, as Joe and I walked home from a well deserved Friday night dinner at Mexico DF:
In a rare moment of public affection, he reaches his arm around my shoulder and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. He stops, then recoils for a moment, his nose squinching.
“You smell like coffee,” he says, then leaning in for another sniff, “and grapes.”
Well, I think to myself minutes later as I lather up in the shower and rinse away the day, that just about sums up harvest.