The Purgatorial Bed


The night is not quite ready to give way to the break of day. A purgatorial holding pattern of a stubborn yet dying winter leaves me restless in the bed. I want to get out, but it’s still so warm and cozy here. There is not yet enough incentive to rouse myself to shower. I’ll pull a bathrobe over myself soon, and trudge wearily out to start a pot of tea, but for now I linger in the soft folds of Marimekko.

I may stay here all day.

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