Sunday morning

I wake up, but it is still early, so I roll over, readjust and keep my eyes shut.  When I finally give in and rise, my cat decides to join me, and does his morning stretch — arched back, curled tail, yawn — you know the drill.  I copy him as best I can.

It is quiet.

Coffee.  While I wait for it to brew, I gulp down some cold water and feel it invade my throat and stomach.  I gulp again but the effect is gone.

Still brewing.

I look out the kitchen window and note the sun's light is not yet harsh.  I imagine it is even bearable outside, maybe even pleasant.  It won't last.  The newsman said today will be a scorcher, triple-digits — brutal.

Black coffee.

The warm mug in my hand, I find an inner calm in the new day's stillness.  Another week's demands lay ahead, but they will wait.  Today, I rest.

It's Sunday morning.