Aqua Vitae

We needed to meet up on Columbus Circle anyway, how convenient that the little Scandinavian place lay tucked away just at the edge of it. Is Swedish food scary? she said. Who cares? The waiters are hot, we replied, and so the matter was settled.

I haven't been to IKEA in months. I haven't walked past Scandinavia house and sighed longingly or complained about American superficialities. I filled my coffee stores while I was home over Christmas, and I have been satisfied.

But there was something in the light wood of the floors, something in the spaciousness and newspapers hanging for patrons' morning reads. Something in the simple quiet of the room that felt like home. Like pain francais near our therapy supervisor, where we'd go after supervision, share a large pot of coffee and a pastry, and while away many hours of laughter and camaraderie.

The softness of the birch tree, the smell of the pine, will forever sift through the blood that runs in my veins. I would not have it, any other way.