Poetry (words)

Sunday 

Beautifully quiet morning. The sun projects dappled shapes through my window and the warmth of the day begins to shine. 

The air smells so clear after last night’s rain. My pjs bottoms too long drag on the wet grass and my toes exposed are covered by delicate droplets. 

Not long now until the world wakes and reaches for its phone. That’s why these silent times are so precious and the  mind becomes empty without them. 

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