I speak picturish

I speak picturish

Quiet morning

My mornings are usually a rush. I'm not an early riser. I've never been, but lately I really had  to wake up early and start checking my list of "to do"s of that day.

Not to mention that charming habit that I got during the last winter: to squeeeeze a few pages read just before the whole thing starts. That pushes my waking hour just a wee bit earlier, but I just don't have the heart (or the head) to let it go.

So today I was caught by surprise. Both kids asleep, the house was quiet. There was no list, I had plans for the day but they were very loose, so I got my book and went out on the terrace.

And for minutes the only noise I could hear was that coming from turning the pages. It must have been too late for the roosters, too early for the donkeys, too far away from any hens, too good-of-a-book to hear the buzzing of the insects.

And then I heard it loud and clear: purrrr-purrrr...

Happiness may come in many ways. I've just found a new one. (...or a meow one)

I speak picturish