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Jun. 14th, 2008 10:56 amIt's a beautiful morning.
There's a window thrown open to catch the breeze, white lace curtains fluttering, the mingled scents of peach blossom and sunshine wafting in. The room is small, warm, cozy. Someone is whistling, cheerfully if not expertly, and a little tunelessly. Still, it's a comfortable sound, one that speaks of home and contentment and that makes a counterpoint to the humming of the machines beneath the open window.
The whistler finishes folding the still-warm clothes, stacks them neatly in the wicker laundry basket, and half-dances out, leaving the next loads to wash and dry in that sunny little room.
Snuggled in his nest of freshly-laundered towels, the bear watches and smiles . . .
. . . and waits.
There's a window thrown open to catch the breeze, white lace curtains fluttering, the mingled scents of peach blossom and sunshine wafting in. The room is small, warm, cozy. Someone is whistling, cheerfully if not expertly, and a little tunelessly. Still, it's a comfortable sound, one that speaks of home and contentment and that makes a counterpoint to the humming of the machines beneath the open window.
The whistler finishes folding the still-warm clothes, stacks them neatly in the wicker laundry basket, and half-dances out, leaving the next loads to wash and dry in that sunny little room.
Snuggled in his nest of freshly-laundered towels, the bear watches and smiles . . .
. . . and waits.
