Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning 

As I lay in my knitted abode the slight

trace of sunlight cheekily creeps through

my wooden windowsill to play, as 

I watch the dust from the sill dance 

around in the sun.

The Sunday morning chill wraps itself 

around me and fills my soul with fresh 

pine and flowers. 

The floorboards creek as I bravely tiptoe

to the kitchen.

A dim room is eliminated with the suns 

kind smile, awakening every piece of furniture.

The silence of the cool air is broken by the sound

of church bells that fill me with a warmness and

a sense of being in this world, not too far down

the luscious green hills.

The porch swing sways gingerly as I sip my coffe

and admire the sweet smell of cinnamon in my oatmeal.

It is only me and the white window that stands 

across from my seat. 

Me and the painted mural of rolling green hills that

are home to sweet cottages and families making

their way to Sunday service, just through the

translucent mirror.

My bare legs become chilled by the cats fur that 

so lovingly brushes up against me.

There are no need for words on this Sunday

morning for I will observe and admire the 

stillness instead. 

  

 

Reviews

[Asante]

I stumbled upon this accidentally, and I'm glad I did. Stellar use of your words, Emily. You held a microscope up to everything around you, slowing time, and retelling it without fail. Great job!

[Emily L]

Thank you very kindly Asante, happy you enjoyed!

[Asante]

Pleasure, Emily. Keep em coming!

[KCthelastboyscout]

Thank you for capturing the essence of a wonderful time of the week.i always enjoy reading the words coming from your wonderful imagination

[Emily L]

Thank you KC, your words are always much appreciated