Morning Perambulations

Myrna sprawled on the living room floor staring at the ceiling. What a waste she thought.  The morning sun dappled the faux lace curtains, it stretched to reach her.  Her body was beautiful.  Curvaceous and lithe.    
The regurgitated cardboard conglomerated squares sucked the artistry clear from the room.  Already here when they moved in, covering up some beautiful mistake, pressing down on her, on this rug.  She twisted her waist, extended her arms, pointed her toes always aware of the lines she was making.  She touched her cheek, the contour of her arm, with a tenderness she had forgotten.  So quiet this morning, only the cicadas incessant buzz playing in and out of perception.  The orange slides of light passing through the sheer slip of the earth's morning breath across the street in Mary's yard.

DPR