6.09 am
The sunlight is trickling in through the window now. It's gilding everything golden, spilling over every surface with delicate greed.
It overflows down the windowsill, seeps over the light wooden floor.
It soaks the rumpled white sheets in a pool of liquid gold.
It touches my skin gently, nudges my shoulder, kisses my eyelashes good-morning.
It wraps around my spinning mind and it whispers calm light at it.
The rain has stopped now.
YOU ARE READING
En Air
Romansa'I don't believe in magic,' said the young boy. The old man smiled. 'You will when you meet her.'
