Sunday Morning, Tatiana Lipson [whitelam books .txt] 📗

Morning

It was cold for March. The house was drafty when I got up and I shivered as I pulled on my dressing gown. I could hear the wind whistling through the trees, and the branches banging against the windows. He was sleeping while I prepared his favorite breakfast: Belgian waffles with syrup and berries, scrambled eggs and hot cocoa. I turned the heat up in the house and called, "Breakfast's ready." He lumbered down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and we sat together in silence on that cold, blustery Sunday morning, enjoying the meal and each other.

Later

It remained cold, and I wrote at my computer while he worked on my car in the garage. I could hear items being tossed around the patio, rattling over the tiles. It was the loudest wind I'd ever experienced. Noise from the bedroom drew my attention, and I peeked in. He was back in bed, covered with blankets, studying his laptop. He smiled lovingly and beckoned me to join him. He was like a cocoon of warmth, and I eagerly snuggled against his body, relaxing into the heat and safety of his arms. In only moments, I was fast asleep.

Afternoon

Between sleeping and waking, we made love. The pure bliss I felt in those moments were beyond compare….and then I slept again, my body close against his. I dreamed. My mother poked her head around the door, bringing us cups of tea. Two young children complained that they had been neglected. Why were we still in bed? Get up. Give us some yoghurt, they cried. I struggled to get out of bed, but my clothes were too tight and hot, and I couldn't get them off. I woke up. No mother. No children. Just the cat, meowing for her breakfast.

Text: Tatiana Conway Lipson
Publication Date: 03-18-2012

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