Morning

The birds wake her. As she glances at the alarm clock she notes it's 6:28, the projection on the ceiling of her darkened room. He hits the snooze, the birds quiet and the morning sun expires, if only temporarily. This alarm clock, she thinks, is very annoying. She's supposed to be awakened gently, to the sun and life and nature. But, all she wants to do is sleep. It's too dark to be morning. That means yet another grey day of rain.

As the birds begin their morning singing once again, he turns off their melody and pulls back the covers, as she slips into her sweats and slippers, and heads downstairs. After a quick bathroom break, she begins her day, the lights in the house shining, the darkness of the day outside still present. She turns on the coffee pot and pulls bread and meat from their respective places. She hears the shower start spraying and tiny footsteps on the stairs. The day is now alive, her eyes still adjusting, yet wishing they didn't have to. As the door to the kitchen opens, she greets her tiny boy, his hair sticking up in all directions. His good morning greeting is hurried as he stumbles to the bathroom, and she begins making lunches and breakfasts, sipping the warmth of her coffee, topped with milk but no sugar.

Her hand, the bad one as it has been known to be called, is not yet working. It is stiff and sore, and cutting bread is a hazard. She tries for an apple instead, and leaves it's four pieces waiting to be cut smaller. She takes another sip of coffee as the tiny boy moves into the living room, where she hears the sound of the tv, Jetix cartoons, blaze to life. She begins making a schedule in her head, of all she must do today, trying to remember if there are any special appointments on her calendar. She fills a glass with yogurt drink, finishes spreading chocolate pasta on a roll, and brings it to her boy. The room is still dark as the shutters have not yet been opened, the only light coming from the glow of the tv. They don't speak, but she ruffles his hair and bends to give him a kiss atop his head. No words need to be spoken. She looks at her agenda as she recognizes that it's library day at school. Don't forget the library books is placed in her already full head.

Another sip of coffe, the cup now nearly empty. It still feels warm in her hand, and she leaves it there a minute, wrapping her fingers tightly around it before finishing up lunches. The man emerges form the bathroom, fresh and clean, a soapy smell lingering on him as he moves, his hair slicked wetly back, his contacts in his hands waiting to open his eyes to the day ahead. He grabs his shoes and sits at the table to put them on, chugs his drink waiting for him. She glances at him, sends him a smile, whether he sees it or not. She's finally beginning to awaken, see the morning come to life. They discuss the plans for the day, and with a kiss goodbye, he grabs his bag, filled with his lunch, and is gone.

She makes another cup of coffee. The day is alive, the day has begun.