when she wakes up in the morning, the first thing she smells is him.
she likes the quiet in the morning and the sound of the world around her not interrupted by the bustle of people.
she loves the quiet meditation, and the way the world is silent, waiting for the first breath of life.
and then it begins, breath, movement, the toast pops up, her orange juice is fresh, she can feel the life rush down her throat.
she walks out her door, soft feet on warm pavement, down the steps, to the mail box, cold paper on her hands.
she begins to read, and finds herself at the dinning room table, comics first then the world.
teapot whistling, hot water through the tea leaves.
upstairs andrew bird whistling,
the day begins
