Sunday Morning

I try and move out of bed but nothing seems more inviting than where I am right now. There's a diagonal sliver of light falling across my side of the bed from where the sunshine has sneaked through the blinds. I shut my eyes again. Outside my window I hear birds, an occasional car horn, and today, my neighbour trying to train her puppy. She's been saying 'no' for some time now, so I'm not sure what the dog is up to. 
I look over to my husband's side of the bed; he's already left the room. The best part of living with someone who wakes up earlier than you is that the coffee machine is already on by the time you get up. He knows the Sunday routine. I can smell the coffee.
The doorbell rings. Dhobi asking if we have any clothes for ironing. He capitalizes on Sundays to catch us at home.
I should wake up now. Or at least get out of bed.
There are newspapers waiting to be read, blogs to be devoured, and breakfast. A leisurely breakfast. The rocking chair near our bookshelf beckons. There is the lazy pace of the world to be savoured. And the light! The light spills over everything.
Now the music's been turned on as well. Our Sunday playlist. 
The memory of today, of this morning, will carry me through the week. 
Till the next magnificent Sunday.