Silence is seven am

on a Sunday morning.

A crescendo of quiet

as day breaks clean

through a bruised cotton candy sky.

The kettle boils

and my feet pad

across the linoleum.

Bed sheets rustle

as I return with two teas

and a smile

because the morning shadows sing

and cling to the contours

of your gentle slumber.

Birds toot-sweet whistle

in the distance.

My favourite kind of silence

where the loudest sound

is the easy harmony

between us, sunshine

and time.

 

---

 

© Kristiana Reed 2019