The morning’s call

It was raining this morning when I started the journey to open my eyes. I snuggled in closer in hope that it wasn’t the alarm making such a ruckus. Pitter pat sounds coming through trees make a girl want to dissolve into her bed and never leave the cocoon.

I want to be suspended from time and daily routines. I want to feel that warm embrace and hold on to it for eternity. Drifting in and out of consciousness, floating through slumber and dreams endlessly.

These mornings remind me of an old house I use to live it. It smelled like clean sheets dried outside. I would wake in the morning in awe of the sunlight dancing through the blinds. It’s playful swirls of light begging me to begin. The cats draped across my feet, stretched and yawned. I’d peek through a small slit of covers to see them licking each other’s furry heads. How nice to have someone do your hair while you are still in bed.

Some mornings remind me of New Orleans. Waking up and smelling the hardwood floors, and that distinctive sent of weather wood where thousands of steps were made. The soft bed pressed up against the wall, nuzzling me up against the large windows adorned with antique molding. Clothes strewn over the end of the bed, an indication of the late night and the force of slumber which pulled me down deep into it’s body. In the morning light nudges me as I listen to the almost inaudible breath of waking, the slow hum of thoughts as they begin to take shape.

Morning light does avenge the night’s wicked ways, and allows us all the hope of sunshine’s rays.