Sunday, a quiet morning with the rain falling outside, a steady drizzle. The light is dim, the clouds have absorbed the wintery sunlight for the greatest part. Smoke is blowing out of the neighbours chimney and is being caught by the rain, damp wet smoke over a glistneing roof of red tiles.
The son comes from his room, not awake and unkempt, and falls into a silent early morning embrace with his father. His father sitting at the table, reading the news on the madness of the British people, and the comic antics of american presidential election in it`s final days.
The son is coughing in the next room, he has something in his throat, caught there. He should dress properly, a voice from the off, from the bedroom tells him to do this.
The wife is up, the son starts preparing for the sunday cake breakfast. Getting to be a habit.
The first time after awakening is nice and silent, quiet and pleasant.
Later, as the day runs, others come with their problems and their difficulties.
To be dealt with.
The son comes from his room, not awake and unkempt, and falls into a silent early morning embrace with his father. His father sitting at the table, reading the news on the madness of the British people, and the comic antics of american presidential election in it`s final days.
The son is coughing in the next room, he has something in his throat, caught there. He should dress properly, a voice from the off, from the bedroom tells him to do this.
The wife is up, the son starts preparing for the sunday cake breakfast. Getting to be a habit.
The first time after awakening is nice and silent, quiet and pleasant.
Later, as the day runs, others come with their problems and their difficulties.
To be dealt with.
No comments:
Post a Comment