The pitter patter of rain hits the window pane
Rhythmic thumps slam against the old wood
Footsteps sound on the tile floor outside the bedroom door
Darkness disturbed by the glow of the television that lays on but dorment and unused in hours.
Sounds of quiet slumber fill the air
Shaken by the shrill piercing sound of an alarm blaring from the charging cell phone
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he awakens slowly and groggy
Waking from dream induced sleep back to the mundane reality.
Cold taking over his senses as the bed creaks below his weight
Muscles aching from lack of use over the past 8 hours
Fog rises on the glass as the black clouds overtake the grey
Mist and fog fill the day, creating a haze.
Groggily he stumbles out of bed
Hissing as his feet touch tile while exiting his carpeted room
Racing to the bathroom before it's in use once more
Relieving himself and washing his hands, he wanders to the kitchen.
Beginning his routine as he does every Sunday morning
Glancing quickly at the newspaper set on the table to his right
He begins pulling out pans to cook breakfast for the house
Pant leg raised as he itches dry skin while yawning
Sizzling of bacon
Hisses of eggs being poured over heat
Crunching of toast being buttered
And the hum of the newest Top 40 hit on the radio is all that can be heard
Pouring the steaming vanilla scented coffee into the well used ceramic mug
Sitting at the table
Opening the paper
This was his happy place
This was his sanctuary
This was his favorite
Sunday Mornings
Nothing could go wrong
Peaceful, relaxing, content.
Sunday mornings to rest and recharge
To live and enjoy.
The one day a week where nothing is expected of you and where you are free.
Here's to Sunday Mornings!
About the Creator
Katelyn Doner
Just a woman who loves to write, read, and be a filmmaker. I love my New England sports and sports teams. Irish and Italian girl right. Family, friends, and self love are everything to me.
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Light Pours In
The red mixes with the blue as the yellow embers squeeze into the middle. Clouds roll through light and fluffy like the pancakes children enjoy in the early morning rushes. Shadows shown throughout to show what we are blocking from the sun. This shows us what we need to pay attention to so it is all equal. Light floods through the gaps, showing fires of life and love into the room.
By Katelyn Doner 4 years ago in Poets
"An Orchestra of American Excellence"
In the core of the immense American spread, Where skies paint dreams with shades gigantic, There lies a vista, a sight divine, Where nature's beauty and workmanship join. In Yosemite's hug, the mountains take off, Their tough pinnacles, Grand from there, The sky is the limit, An orchestra of greens and gold’s, Where stories of old terrains unfurl. Through Fantastic Gorge's gap, Waterways wander, Cutting murmurs in stone, An old book, Layers of time revealed, Uncovered, in each cleft, a story forced. Along the shores of Acadia, waves dance, Their cadenced tides, a mesmerizing daze, Where bluffs meet ocean in quiet veneration, A work of art of seaside polish. In the core of Yellowstone's wild hug, Fountains emit, A heavenly elegance, Painting the sky with warm tones, A scene that eternity follows. From the moving slopes of Tuscany, California. To the blazing sparkle of Arizona's Sahara, America's vistas, each a material interesting, Welcome the spirit to meander and dare. So let us wander these terrains untamed, Where magnificence and marvel stay unchained, In each vista, a brief look at the heavenly, In the immortal scenes of the American line. In the core of the tremendous American region lies a perpetual embroidered artwork of magnificence, Woven with strings of miracle and painted with shades that oppose the creative mind. From the transcending pinnacles of the Rough Mountains to the peaceful shores of the Incomparable Lakes, Every vista murmurs privileged insights of the land, Welcoming investigation and consideration. In the hug of the Smoky Mountains, Fog grips to the valleys like a sweetheart's hug, Relaxing the rough edges of old pinnacles. Daylight channels through the overhang, Dappling the backwoods floor with brilliant kisses, While the tunes of birds weave songs that reverberation through the trees. Across the fields of the Midwest, Fields stretch to the skyline like an interwoven unique blanket, Sewed along with columns of corn and soybeans. The sky curves above, A huge territory of blue that appears to extend on everlastingly, Hindered simply by an intermittent surging cloud. In the deserts of the Southwest, The scene moves and changes like sand in the breeze, Etched by the hands of time into undulating rises and transcending plateaus. Here, the sun sets the sky burning with tints of orange and pink, Creating long shaded areas that dance across the desert floor. Furthermore, in the urban communities that ascent from the earth like landmarks to human resourcefulness, The lights of 1,000 windows sparkle like stars against the night sky. High rises go after the sky, Their glass exteriors mirroring the steadily changing horizon in a sparkling mosaic of steel and glass. In any case, maybe the genuine excellence of America lies in its scenes, However in the variety of its kin and societies. From the clamoring roads of New York City to the drowsy towns of the Profound South, Each side of this tremendous nation recounts an account of strength, imagination, and trust. So let us meander these scenes, both regular and man-made, With hearts open to the miracles that encompass us. For in each view, from the most noteworthy top to the humblest city intersection, There is magnificence to be found for those with eyes to see and hearts to feel.
By Nameless writer3 days ago in Poets
The Bloody Blood in Your Veins
Our Origins Today, I read something I didn't know—one more thing to add to all the other things I didn't know. By the time I grow up, I’ll have a collection. But it was intriguing, and it inspired me to write this post. I hope you enjoy it.
By Rene Volpi 6 days ago in FYI
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