MORNING

 

MORNING 

 

The rain was tapping softly at the window of her room, as if it was gently waiting for her to wake up from her slumber. Slowly the piano music coming from her digital alarm clock started playing, softly and soothingly. It was as if the music was playing its tune to accompany the gentle rain outside. So peaceful. So ideal perhaps. She slowly started opening her eyes to the soft sounds around her and she noticed that feeling of waking up in peace, in such an ideally atmospheric moment. She stretched out while gazing at the window, at the world outside. The white curtains pulled to the sides would let her see the crystal of her window, with trickles of water running down, resembling little rivers of peace. The pine trees outside being showered and refreshed by the water, were slowly swaying rhythmically to the sides. They looked as if they were greeting her that morning. She smirked at this thought, at the marvelous simplicity and beauty of the rain, of those trees outside, of her being wrapped up in a warm cozy blanket.

She got up. Shook and strengthened the white blankets in her bed and set the light-greyed pillows in an appropriate order. She looked around to make sure that everything was in place. Her plants over the window ledge were in the right place, her small two-seat sofa in front of her bed showed a throw-grey blanket upon it, which her mom had given her a while ago. A gift which he treasures deeply. A gift that keeps her warm when she lies there on that sofa with a cup of tea and honey and a book. She picked up an already-worn top from the chair at her desk and chuck it away in the laundry basket right behind her room door. Once more, she looked around. The room being simple, with white walls and some pictures hanging on them, her bed, already well-made, an inviting sofa and her desk with a laptop on top and a small plant. 

Being satisfied at the result of her task, she proceeded to wash her face and brush her teeth. While doing so, a stream of thoughts and ideas running speedily in her head: “I feel like having a cup of tea with milk instead of coffee… Should I do some laundry...hmm, have to call mom and tell her about having lunch together tomorrow…”. Simultaneously, she examined her face, still luster, showing a well-kept set of eyebrows, fresh green eyes and well-molded rosy lips. She applied some freshening lotion on her face and smirked at her reflection in the mirror.

She walked to the kitchen and opened the window a little bit, just to let some morning rain breeze in. Set the curtains to the sides and then filled the kettle with fresh water for her morning tea. She loved being in her small kitchen, painted in a pale hue of grey, a foldable table by the window, a small white fridge filled up with what she considered was necessary. The bustling sound of the kettle let her know that the water was ready. Out of the cupboard she took her favorite white mug with the words “have a nice day” on it, which she got while being in a gift shop with Mary, her dearest friend and confident, who she has known ever since she was a little blond pony-tailed girl. She poured the steamy water in the mug with an already-put tea bag and right after, a little bit of milk. No sugar.

She sat down at her table while admiring the rain outside, the beautiful grey clouds across the sky showering all around. She would still marvel at such simply yet glorious act of nature. She observed how the water trickled down at her window, she saw a trio of birds flying across the sky and wondered if they minded the rain or were they just enchanted and happy at the rain falling over them. Her leather-bound diary lying at the table with a pen by it was inviting her to open it. And so, she did. She saw what she had written the day before: a poem. She took her pen, putting it at her lips, gazing at the view in front of her. She smiled, she acknowledged the beauty of that moment, simple and yet powerful. While directing her eyes to the sky above she softly whispered, “thank you”. She held her pen and started writing another poem.