An Average Sunday Morning

Tick-tick-tick the seconds round up the clock until the arms strike 12. It’s midnight in our home and the view down to the street is veiled in a thin sheen of melted snow. Turning the knob counterclockwise on the lamp its bulb slowly fades, dimmed then darkness. Our drapes leak light through the white tree-pattern stitched into the black cotton. This light provides enough information to slip through the open floor plan towards the bathroom for brushing ones teeth before retiring into the awaiting bed.

Awakened by the rustling warm sheets between us, she rolls away off the bed sneaking into our kitchen pressing the Oster awake while she performs her early morning rituals. Unconsciously an arm stretches out across the bed a hand grabbing her discarded warm pillow and pulling it closer to ones face. Eyes flutter then close drifting back into the bed for further REM. Rolling over an hour later, a finger presses the home key its display lighting up, its digital clock reads 09:13 and blinks off. Fluttering eyes twitch into focus beholding the pinewood carving purchased from a very old Vietnamese gentleman in an antique shop along the streets of Hoi An.

Reaching down to the floor my hand picks up an orange hoodie as my feet hit the floor. Stretching upright then strolling across the carpeted floor a hand turns the knob on the door pulling it forward as a warm breeze brushes against my face. Glancing over the right shoulder she sits on the cushion closest to the balcony absorbing the grey morning light, sipping a fresh cup of coffee and diligently reading her culinary recipe book. She smiles and politely greets my awakening with a “good morning sleepy”, her head never leaves the page she’s pursuing.

Moments later, I’m pulling a ceramic white mug out of the cupboard, a scoop of raw sugar into the cup followed by the smell of Colombian roasted coffee beans fills up the cup, topped off with a bit of Soya milk, I grab a Discovering Canada  off the kitchen table and head for sitting next to her. Our eyes briefly engage, I lean over giving her a fresh minty kiss. She smiles and retracts into her book. Setting the cup down near our feet, I flip open to the bookmark, leaning into her and my eyes drift asleep for fifteen minutes.

Awakened by her rustling on the couch, she nudges me and I fall back into the couch. She giggles then stands up and heads for the kitchen for a second cup. Moments later she’s back in her spot with a new magazine and asks, “are you awake?” I respond with a nod, a yawn and “didn’t find the bed until 3.” She shakes her head. “I suppose you were up at 5?” She laughs, “not true, it was more like 6:15 and I slept in.” We both smile and laugh… it’s going to be a great Sunday morning.

 

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