Morning Reads Novels & Stories

THE NEXT MORNING ... The sun beamed on the horizon and birds chirped in the morning and happiness woke up with a smile on her face. Sumire unexpectedly received a bouquet, a love letter, and one pair of earrings from Mort. It was delivered from Brethren City. Sitting so beautifully, her hair flowing around her like a morning mist. The maiden immediately took out the earrings that fit perfectly on her. The morning breeze gently stirred her raven hair as she read the handwritten love letter while drinking coffee in the garden. She smelled the special paper that Mort used and the scent of the hunk was left there which made Sumire smile.

Lucas Morning bleeds in before I’m ready. Not sunlight... no, light this pale can’t be called sun, but that gray smear that creeps past blinds, the stormy version of dawn. My eyes open before the alarm. They always do. Internal clock, internal predator. The apartment hums faintly. Refrigerator. Pipes. Someone’s TV murmuring two floors down. Coffee brewing in the place across the hall... hazelnut roast, weak. The town wakes like a machine switching on, piece by piece.

A NEW MORNING RISE As the sky opens the window to the new day of a crimson flight, That bright orange-yellow pink shades give glittering dawn, The night and the stars were no more on the light, they were on sight, The darkness comes and is no more and comes now and then. That new morning sends a smile to my heart and brings sunshine. It refreshes the soul, body, and spirit and encompasses will, To submit to Creator’s plan and purpose in love and for the good, Hej! God morgen to the land of Royal Highnesses. That new morning rises like a bridge between the palace and the earth, It gives a star to the heart as the mind celebrates the togetherness,

Grabs my hand. Looks at us both. "Day," she says. Her word for good morning. Her word for begin. Damien opens one eye. Looks at her. "Yes," he says. "It's day." She nods. Satisfied. Leans back against the pillow between us. We all three lie there in the December morning for a few minutes. Through the window: the yard still white. The sun coming up over the mountains, the specific gold of winter morning light on snow. Gerald wakes up at the foot of the bed. Lifts his head. Assesses the situation. Puts his head back down. Satisfied.

Monday Morning I woke up early, my body a bit sore from yesterday's emotional weight, but my mind is sharp like I received some extra sparkle overnight. It’s the beginning of the work week and it will set the tone of how my week will go. I have to start it on a positive note. Brandon was already up, sipping a cup of coffee and reviewing something on his tablet. We shared a quiet morning routine, sitting side by side in the home office. The hum of the city buzzed faintly outside but inside was peaceful.

The day comes with a blinding brilliance. Off or the air conditioning and I get out of bed. It's December 28th.I have so many things to do today. The first thing I do is take my mobile and check calls and messages in the mail. Nothing, no calls. I hear the sound of a car parking and turning off. I look out the window; It is a car that I do not recognize. I shower and brush my teeth quickly. My hair only needs a bit of styling cream and I let it go down with freedom of expression. For at go vacation from work should serve.

The morning is deeper than it was. Don read this to Ernest at the kitchen table. It was a Tuesday morning in early June. The starter was on the counter—it was a bread day, Don had fed it the night before, and it was active and confident. The kitchen window was open to the June air. Ruth was in the lower field, visible as a distant figure through the window. The foxgloves were in their third spring of the being rather than the becoming. Ernest looked at Don across the table. Don said: "The morning is deeper than it was."

Thursday comes with the particular energy of a day that contains something you've been waiting for. I wake at six without an alarm. I shower and dress and eat the breakfast I make every morning now, eggs and toast and the decaf that I have stopped resenting quite as much as I did in the first trimester. I water the herb pots. I stand at the kitchen window for a moment and watch the street below do its early morning thing. I remembered how late night felt with Dominic and I smiled. I'm totally glowing right now.

Rex was shirtless, how could one be so ethereal in the morning. Like he didn’t even try, like he just woke up looking like that. His blue eyes fixed on me , I was going to open my mouth to say something but I didn’t trust my morning breath so I just turned my back and laid on the bench, breathing into my palm. I even sniffed twice just to be sure. “ I guess you are not a morning person , you have to get up ….that alarm means it’s time to count the horns , the game is over “ He said , I just nodded still trying to sniff my breath .

CHAPTER TWO: |McCleron!| • • • Morning routines, on a good day, could be likened to one performed in a montage: the alarm's buzz kickstarts the sequence, as you softly peel apart your lids, allowing the blinding rays of sun to attack your retina the second they are open. In a squint you squeeze them shut again, before gently revealing it to the bright radiance that had invaded your room. Without haste, you pull off the thick yellow Winnie the Pooh sheets, and step out of bed, inhale deeply and seep in every cold larking air, warmly laced with rose and curry, and more vaguely lined fragrances you seem very unsure of. Every step and movement you make, is in perfect sync with the sonorous beats