I love the tactile luxury of lying in bed on Saturday morning. The warm sheets and the weight of the blankets. I love the half-light of dawn and the fragrant, deep pillow that invites me to procrastinate a day’s worth of relaxing and odd jobs for just a few more minutes. It’s cold out there and warm in here. No, I won’t get up. I’ll just turn over and snuggle up to....Father Bird? Where is Father Bird?
Gone. Up, showered, dressed and busy by 6 am at the latest. Even on a Saturday morning.
I do not understand this.