Of Mists and Morning

A quiet morning; a cup of coffee sits on the table; like an old friend, awaiting my occasional attention.

The open Bible; words springing from its pages, speaking to my heart and soul.

The rain's rhythmic plinking against the tin roof subdues even the misty glow outside the window, making it feel like the house is enveloped within a clock, sitting upon the huge mantle of life.
"Tick, tock...tick, tock"; it leads one to retreat to a chair in the corner with a book and warm mohair throw.

But morning still calls...calling more heartily now.  It knows that the easy chair is waiting; a mohair folded on its arm.

The coffee finished; the Bible returned to its place until the evening. 
"There are those dishes",calls morning.
My foot now taps to a new tune of rain plinking against the pane before the sink.