Scent Story
The day begins in whispers.
Light slips gently through the trees, not rushing, not urgent, just golden ribbons laying themselves across the floor. The world feels hushed, as if time has stretched itself wide open. A vase of flowers leans toward the window, petals soft and familiar, colors blooming against the still air.
The air outside carries warmth without weight. Somewhere in the distance a kettle hums, and the faint sound of laughter drifts in, quiet enough to be background, strong enough to feel like home. The table is set not with ceremony but with care, the kind of care that says stay a while.
Voices rise and fall like tides. Connection is unforced, conversation layered with pauses that feel as meaningful as the words themselves. No one is rushing, no one is checking the clock. The world beyond the walls can wait.
Here, there is only ease. The light, the quiet, the familiarity of a space that asks nothing of you except to be in it.
This is Sunday Morning. The pause you wish could last forever.
