Sometimes . . . .

The other week I woke up, which is not a bad thing.

It was a nice morning.

I stayed in bed and read a wonderful book I had been gradually working my way through, as I kept dipping into it too late at night when I went to bed. It was ‘Day’ by A. L. Kennedy, which I think is superb, though not an easy read by any means.

Breakfast appeared and I was still encased in sheets and duvet with propped up pillows. Scrumptious, munching between turning pages.

Eventually I got to the last page then upped and dressed.

The weather had done a downer. So, an easy day for me.

I haven’t done this for ages and ages. It was a real joy and a wind down.

Now I’ll have to wait for another excellent tome and that utter luxurious feeling of just being locked away in my mind between the pages.

📖 📖 📖 📖

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2 thoughts on “Sometimes . . . .

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