Morning entered the room with gentle force, as if the door was stuck. Dave and Shanice lay motionless, soaking up their surroundings. The sound of giggling birds. A blended scent created by a buildingful of sizzling breakfast pans. Toast-a-poppin'.
"Shall we rise?" whispered Shanice. The fresh morning breeze tickled their feet, which were perfectly lined up into a sine wave of round toe. If this toe-scribed melody were to be played, a jazz flutist would need to be hired--accompanied by fretless bass and brushed snare.
"Rise?" Dave said, "Not just yet. I'd like to let the mountainous landscape of bedding seep into my memory. See how the duvet echoes our screams from the previous evening?"
"I do see," said Shanice, "now that you've pointed it out."
The two clutched palms and, after several minutes, evaporated. The phone rang. A fax came in. The newspaper was delivered to the door. All this going on as a pair of turtle doves sprang from their rooftop perch into the chill of a new day sky.
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