A Morning Like Any Other

A Morning Like Any Other

1.
This morning, at breakfast in the conservatory, eating my bowl of muesli and drinking my cup of fennel tea, sunshine falling on the table, the clouds above, visible through the glass roof, pursuing their indifferent path, some higher up almost stationary, while those lower down in the atmosphere hurried along busily, imperturbably, gently ruffling the leaves at the top of the tall beech tree; the dahlias showing me their deep red faces, swaying in harmony with barely perceptible currents of air; late martins swooping and dipping and circling above, harvesting their last meal before setting off for the South, a flock of rooks cawing noisily, raucously, before taking off in formation across the blue of the sky, only to land again in the old horse chestnut tree across the field; the weather vane on the church tower glinting in the sunshine and the ducks on the river by the bridge complaining loudly at something only they knew - it all was exactly like any other morning in late summer, early autumn, when the sun caresses the valley with its rays and makes you happy to be alive.

Except it wasn't the same as any other morning, because this morning was the very first morning when one life was missing, one life had left the valley, never to return.

2.
This morning, at breakfast in the conservatory,
eating my bowl of muesli and drinking my cup
of fennel tea, sunshine falling on the table,
the clouds above, visible through the glass roof,
pursuing their indifferent path, some higher up
almost stationary, while those lower down
in the atmosphere hurried along busily,
imperturbably, gently ruffling the leaves
at the top of the tall beech tree;
the dahlias showing me their deep red faces,
swaying in harmony with barely perceptible
currents of air; late martins swooping
and dipping and circling above, harvesting
their last meal before setting off for the South,
a flock of rooks cawing noisily, raucously,
before taking off in formation
across the blue of the sky,
only to land again in the old horse chestnut tree
across the field; the weather vane
on the church tower glinting
in the sunshine and the ducks on the river
by the bridge complaining loudly at something
only they knew - it all was exactly like
any other morning in late summer, early autumn,
when the sun caresses the valley
with its rays and makes you happy to be alive.

Except it wasn't the same as any other morning,
because this morning was
the very first morning when
one life was missing,
one life had left the valley,
never to return.

Friko

Posted over on her site Friko's Musings
1. Friko's beautiful prose.
2. Line breaks by Glenn Buttkus