coffee, a pleasure

It is cold now in November, the cold creeps in through the walls and openings of the old house, the wish just to wrap up and hide from it, to stay in bed and to do nothing.

It is Sunday, about three weeks until Christmas, and things that should have been done just have not been done. And now the week is over.

Sitting alone in the big room again, the sitting room, the piano room, the television room.

The son learning his Latin on a computer, the steady hum of the machinery, the occasional beep or comment from the programm as it presents words to be learnt, remembered.

It is five past nine, enough of the laziness

Make a cup of coffee, a pleasure