A matinee of morning memories

A childhood memory surfaces from the vague drowsiness. An image pours in as the mind defies the eyes,  still closed, baiting slumber. The September morning is lightly fogged, the wind content to stay dormant for as long as the sun won't force it to rouse, its only movements seen in the occasional rustle of leaves on the curtain of boreal forest, as if groaning on a lazy morrow... The other senses conform to this view. With each of those whispers the forest sends this way, a hint of pine is expressed. This scented air gently tiding in from the ajar window feels so moist the dew can almost be tasted. Slow and sporadic waves resound as occasional cars rolling by on the distant road, a soothing misapprehension issued from the stillness of the land, an acoustic reserved for the early birds. They too can be heard, chirping intermittently, somewhat indolent so few they number.

I bask in the memory, sleep can wait...