Friday, August 23, 2013

August 23, 2013: a note

The house was silent.  I walked into the kitchen as a golden burst rose from the dip in the trees and painted the room with a radiant, good morning.  The color so rich, it could almost be heard.  I imagine it would sound like a million sparkling prisms dancing and a shop wall.

My body captivated, my eyes alive in the golden room.

Then came the grinding of the beans, the filling of the kettle, rattling as it was placed on the stove, and soon traces of a little conversation between those two.

A new day.



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