There is a quiet beauty to my Saturday mornings. My eyelids flutter open and warmth between my sheets greet me with love and assurance, assurance that there is no train to catch, no coffee to make. My feet are still toasty under my sheets as are my usually cold fingertips. I curl up in a ball and toss and turn and breathe in the scent of almost noon. My headphones are still tangled around me from the previous night, because like always, the lull of sweet dreams and slumber have called to me, and I guess my ability to press the off button just drifted away. Lavender and florals and dewy in-between autumn winter air lingers between the corners of my pillow, into pieces of my hair, which disperse into the warmth around me as I slide deeper into my blanket. I know the rest of the day is waiting on me for them to happen, but never do I want to leave this nest of comfort. Just a few minutes, I tell myself.
