The sun is shining through a gap in the curtains and gilding my hands with light as I type. I look up at the curtains. They are deep ruby red with small stripes. They glow and a faint patch of red light seeps onto the walls next to them. The house is hushed. It is not the hush of everyone trying to be quiet, but it is peaceful. The rest of the house is asleep, somewhere else. They are dreaming of delicious sights and situations and I wonder what they are.
My mug is cornflower blue with tiny white glimmers where the light hits its rounded edges. The coffee inside is rich brown. It reminds me of the woods on a November day. The mug is smooth and warm to the touch, and when I take a sip the warmth slides down my throat, soothing it.
The only sound is the muffled clicking of my keyboard. It is a comforting sound somehow. It sounds like the feeling I get when I have hit on a good idea for a story, and it comes pouring from my fingers. I hardly have to think about what I will say next. The story is there, ready to be written, I just have to keep typing.
I am wearing my favorite black pajamas and a large pink robe. This is the robe I wear when I am sick, because I can wrap it around myself like a blanket. It is worn and frayed around the sleeves.
I feel loved. I thank God for another lovely day, for another sunrise, for my familiy's sweet dreams, for the ability to write, for the stories He gives me, and for my fluffy pink robe.