It’s those Sunday mornings, waking up without an alarm knowing you have nothing going on that day. You turn over once more and get comfortable, without even checking the time. An hour later, you wake up to the sun peeking through the gap between the curtains: a beautiful orange red colors your face, the blanket, the wall. You get up and the house is silent. The rhythmic snip snip of your neighbour’s hedge shears reminds you that the world has been long awake before you. You turn on the water cooker, grab your favorite cup and morning tea, and wait for the switch to flip back. The steam escaping gently warms your face. You fill your cup, and as you wait for your tea to steep you open your curtains. A softly clouded sky and gently weeping trees greet you. You decide you’ll go for a walk later.
You settle on the couch, your mug warming your hands. You eye your most recent read on the coffee table, but it takes you a solid ten minutes to finally pick it up. There’s no rush, no hurry. No need to be completely awake.