Portico Press

Covered.

“Pull the curtain back the light is killing me”

“No” I said with a breath, “the sun’s nice today”.  I smiled as my eyes adjusted to the day, the trees were frozen in place and a light blue sky pushed downward.  She pulled the covers back and grumbled.  I looked over to the mound of covers and beyond.  The bedside table had a half read book of Edmund Spencer’s poetry, a pack of crushed cigarettes, and a lighter.  I reached over to the table, attempting to not disturb her.  

“A cig’ this early?”  She hadn’t even gotten out from the covers. 

“Well  … it’s so rare that the weather is this nice”

I don’t think it was a health concern for her, more that she found morning breadth already so abhorrent.  I stopped at the door to the balcony and looked back.

“Want anything?”

“Coffee” was the reply from the covers.