slow mornings; a concept

it's a slow Sunday morning,

the rain beats gently against your window pane

you turn over to the sound of it's quiet patter

with sleep clouding your vision,

you rise clumsily from last nights warmth;

placing your feet on the cold wooden floor.

with each step you take, your senses awaken again.

in rhythm and routine,

you set the kettle on the stove, pull the beans from the cupboard;

grinding them into coarse dust

moments later, the smell of reviving coffee begins to saturate the air

sighing deeply,

you smile

the window to your left now foggy and wet

with the steady patter of cold winter rain,

you reach out for your favourite yellow mug

and pour into it, the rich warmth of another

slow morning.