A little empty that morning she sat on the top step of the verandah sipping tea, sipping thought. Three steps down to the pavement squares of sandstone lay in even handed rhythms; flatly refusing to contour.
He’d moved away last week; big bloke, big smile could clasp four pavers in one hand, laid the lot inside ten days, maybe a record, who could say.
Completed, the pavement was now empty of him, no more scraping back, no more chipping out, no more broad smiling hands reaching for her cups of tea.
She missed this; as she missed the slightly flat renditions of ‘midnight oil’ and ‘fleetwood mac’, the **** of his straw hat and the farewell call of... "see you sometime in the morning suze..." (always at exactly 6.30 a.m.)
He was big on tea, said he was glad to meet someone who knew it wasn’t merely the dis-colouration of milk. She’d smile at that, he was right, things like tea were best, given time to infuse. She sipped her tea, sipped her thoughts and the deeper taste that came with a little time.