Weekend Mornings

Tangled up in sheets and blankets, she’s warm and cozy as she slowly opens her eyes.  Squinting at the alarm clock perched on her bedside table she smiles, feeling restored.  Reaching for her blankets she pulls them up around her chin and settles into her bed.  Pulling her book off the table, she tugs on the bookmark and finds her place.  As she zeroes in on the sentence, she begins to lose sense of the room around her.  Slipping into the story she buries deeper under the covers until only her face is above the pile of blankets.  The story grasps her attention once more,  sweeping up her imagination and her heart and taking them on an adventure.  Racing across lands and through time, she turns page after page until she comes across the words “the end.”  It takes her a moment to realize where she is and return to her room, to her morning, and she begins to emerge from her pillowy cocoon.  Opening the shade, she is greeted by the sunshine streaming through.  Wrapping her fingers around her glasses, she slides the frames on her face and places her feet on the floor.  With her stomach grumbling, she heads toward the kitchen ready to officially start the day.


Les Arbes

“En forêt, le silence n’existe pas.  Les arbes sont bavards.”


“In the forest, silence doesn’t exist.  The trees talk.”