BY SUSANA LOURENÇO . PORTUGAL . EUROPE
Amidst luxuriant green hedges and busy bees, I wonder a breakfast table. Dressed in snow-white cotton, it is set only for me. I like my moments of quietude. Of deep silence. Only intermitted by the clapping wings of butterflies and the laughter of fragrant roses.
I take my seat, overlooking a pregnant orchard. The trees are starting to arch its arms towards the ground, lowering the sweet fruits swollen by the summer sun.
A gentle morning breeze kisses my naked arms and flips the pages of my beloved book, surprising phrases that I still have not read. I am tented to reach for those words, but instead I shut the cover.
One scrumptious plate of softly browned pancakes is painstakingly quiet in front of me. I reach for the fork and tenderly pinch its red fruits that announce a bitter tannin pulp. Some of them escape me and roll into the smoothness of the deep ripe honey. Then, my knife transgresses the baked cushioned surface. And I take my first bit. Heaven.
A sip of milk tinted black coffee sooths my craving for caffeine, dwelling me into the story of my no longer left aside book. Slowly, I wake up into a glorious free day.