She awakes to the sound of the sea.
The white-noise whisper that had lulled her into slumber mere hours before nudges now at her subconscious, urging her to rise, to stand, to cross with bare feet to the window and gaze out at a silvery dawn.
As she moves, the floorboards creak beneath her, the sigh of her own joints providing a gentle percussion to this oft-played morning song. She smiles in spite of the discomfort and busies herself with the preparation of coffee – the metal scoop dipped into the fine, dry powder, the click of the kettle, its exhale of steam. One lump for her and three for him; the spoon tinkles.
It is small inside the hut. Two narrow beds, a bench, blankets stacked in a pile, herringbone blue with…
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The Simple Things (Digital) - 1 Issue, July 2024