Morning Glory

Nobilismendacium
Nov 7, 2019
3 min read

[descriptive part one]

(There is a playlist at the end of the post that you can choose a track to read along with, enjoy!)

Light rythemic chimes from the oblong, postcard-sized metallic device , its glassy surface flickering as if it were waking up to its own voice.

The crisp deflating sounds of the pastel pink duvet accompanied by the faint sighs and long draws of breath as pitter-patters slowly approach a foot or two long kitchen, in a lone corner of a large minimistically occupied hall.

A lone, petite pale figure--with an oversized, caramel sweater sliding over its shoulder--approaches the small balcony. It seats itself upon a reed chair, placing the ceramic marble-white mug below its high-bridged, button nose. The earthly aroma of the dark brew

stimulates sleepy minds as droopy lids arise and the gleaming orbs within consume the view.

Dewy surroundings, with a slight mist against vibrant greens, muted browns and grey tones. Cobbled paths with not many people to be seen except for the older quiet women on their morning stroll. Sways of varying, refreshing shades of green foliage that seem to extend for miles along the cemented roads against the sweet morning breeze.

There are metallic sounds, the clock-like tic-tic as the flame’s turned on, followed soon after with the passionate sizzles and the aroma of beacon and fried eggs, stimulating the appetite emanating from the small, glass-paned windows of numerous kitchens within the neatly aligned rows of cuboidal , pastel residences along the cobbled path.

The gentle pitter-patter of cereals into a ceramic bowl, coffee being dalloped into mugs, and numerous whispered good mornings.

Altogether these numerous tones, along with the enthusiastic chirps of swallows, cuckoos create a tranquil harmony.

There is a light ding of the clock followed by the muffled thumps up wooden steps, hurried bangs of doors, the ambient sound of a shower being turned on. After a few thumps around the house, the banging of heavy timber front doors as the jangling of keys and tapping of soles against the cobbled, grey path slowly fade away with increasing frequency , into the distance.