A Breath of Mint

A fresh green scent called me up to the wide wooden windowsill where a glass jar of spearmint leaves stood steeping in the early sunlight. Standing on my green toes, I reached both plush arms around a stray wooden toothpick resting on the sill and gently levered it across the rim of the jar. It caught the floating stem, gently turning it until the pale underside of a leaf pressed flat against the clear glass. Through that cool green window, the slanted morning rays broke into emerald waves across the wood. I leaned my forehead against the warmth of the sill, listening to the quiet seep of water and herb.