Posted in Loss, Poetry

Mornings with Nan, Prose

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Mornings with Nan, Prose.
© 2016 LC

Reading your Bible by the dimmest light, your hair falling down into little strands. Awake before anyone else. Having trouble sleeping, your legs aching and writhing– keeping you awake. So you would have toast with jam and coffee, I’d smell the fresh brew from the basement. Then, roll over and go back to sleep with a smile. Sometimes I’d awake to the smell of burnt toast. You’d watch the windows in the morning for red birds. They were your favorite. Or blue birds. You loved animals and enjoyed God’s creation. After awhile, you’d sweetly call me for breakfast with your West-Virginian twang. “Lynne, breakfast is ready,” you’d say! As I trudged up the stairs, you’d be standing at the top in your long flowery night-gown with flannel PJ bottoms. Your crystal blue eyes glistening in the morning sun light as you’d tell me, “Good morning.” Oh, how I miss those mornings with you, Nan!

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Author:

Dreamer. Doer. Poet. Writer. Mom. Baker. Lover of Many Things.

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