winter
It was dark and very cold when I woke up this morning. I wriggled out of my blankets, found my socks and polar fleece, and wriggled back in, but I was still cold. My hot water bottle was barely warm, telling me that morning was near. It was six-fifteen when I turned on my phone, so I decided to get up.
I like early mornings, perhaps because I see them so rarely. I came out to the landing and snuggled into one of cushioned basket chairs, coffee by my side, beanie on head, wrapped in a blanket, trying to fit both Molly and my falling-apart-Bible on my lap, and watched it get lighter.
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Jack to me, last night, after I had described my sleeping routine to him in some detail: "Yeah. (Pause.) I don't think that's as normal as you think it is."
I like early mornings, perhaps because I see them so rarely. I came out to the landing and snuggled into one of cushioned basket chairs, coffee by my side, beanie on head, wrapped in a blanket, trying to fit both Molly and my falling-apart-Bible on my lap, and watched it get lighter.
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Jack to me, last night, after I had described my sleeping routine to him in some detail: "Yeah. (Pause.) I don't think that's as normal as you think it is."