Quiet Morning

I am sitting in the brown leather chair. My feet are propped on the footstool and the computer hums on my lap. My thighs burn hot. Three cherubs dream in the bedrooms above my head while fresh coffee brews on the stove. I sip my drink in the unusual silence as the sun plays behind the clouds, taunting rain. I am content. Comforted by the sound of nothing but thought swirling in my head. It won't be long before the pitter-patter of bare feet march down the stairs, demanding breakfast, and games of imaginary play. I close my eyes and burn this feeling into memory, for quiet mornings are rare treasures that provide sanity.