Sunday Morning

On Sunday morning the first
awareness of the day drifts
through the sleeper’s mind as
she turns on her side. Very
faint light shows through the
heavy curtains as she opens
her eyes slightly – too much –
she closes them again.
Luxuriating in the comfortable
warmth she sinks down into
restful blissful unconsciousness.
Blessed silence continues.

Bare feet pound into the room
in three year old consternation.
Shocked tones announce
“The moon has gone away !
– The stars have gone away !
– The sun is shining ! And
no one is getting up !”

The sleeper is jolted awake.
A vast heap beside her groans,
stirs, a gravelly voice rumbles
that all is fine, the three year
old should go back to bed.

Little bare feet trail slowly away.
She hasn’t woken her sister, that
is hard to do. Which leaves her
looking at picture books
with Alfred Bear in bed.

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Sunday Morning

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