Morning
The moment the first sunlight reaches in past the covers, the coffee by the window has already gone cold. Like cooled soup, yesterday's warmth barely remains, holding its place.
The moment the first sunlight reaches in past the covers, the coffee by the window has already gone cold. Like cooled soup, yesterday's warmth barely remains, holding its place.
Seeing the coffee cup by the morning window, I think of the water bowl I left in the yard last evening. Dew had formed on it. Only as the sunlight filled in did I go out to look at the dried spot.