Morning creeps with long, grey fingers into my bedroom. The approaching day is still invisible and promises nothing. It hovers mysteriously between heaven and earth. I eavesdrop on its murmurs,
Its reluctant rebirth from darkness to the slowly awakening shadows shaping the new day.
I stretch and snuggle deeper under my soft and warm doona. I remain inert, faintly I hear my mother in the kitchen, the busy clutter and chink of cutlery and china arranged quickly for breakfast. My mind fastens on the day ahead, my favoured day of the week because the school library will be open.
I can already anticipate the familiar smell of beeswax, the mustiness of old books and tiny specks of dust settling. The shelves are packed with books ready for me to release all the treasures of a different magical world. My mind lingers on the books I will borrow something unfamiliar exotic tantalising my imagination.
Villas in pink and vanilla washes dozing under a hot sun nestled in gardens fragrant with the scents of exotic flowers with marvellous names like jasmine and frangipani.
Delicate butterflies, silky flecks with papery, brittle wings in the hues of rainbows dance and flirt in the balmy air.
Palms their massive, leafy fronds rustling, softly sighing, and whispering come! Silvery sands hiding treasures of ancient lands. A sea dramatic and secretive eternally conquers her shores. My heart lurches and squeezes makes funny little jumps I long so much to embrace this world.
The voice of my mother startles me. My hands outstretched to reach, my eyes open, it is Saturday morning.
Copyright T.S.
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