Waking

SilentLoungeFrom absolute warmth to toe chilling tiles, I rise.

Relieved, I move past last night’s plates on the kitchen bench before collapsing into the couch’s welcoming arms like a returning son to his mother, I feel her unspoken love.

The remote remains untouched; I beat the children out of bed and birds from their nests.

Part two of a series on ‘silence’ – Details Emerge Without Volume.

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