An ocean of white, folding onto each other- meeting and parting, moving in one direction or the other- all still echoing the time that was just spent in the midst of it all. Lazy weekend mornings with soft skin pressed up against the cool sheets, a companion to enjoy the time spent.
I have found that some of my most enjoyable moments in the past few months have been spent in the simple luxury of the unmade bed- a cup of coffee, a meal, a bouquet of fresh flowers, a cozy wool blanket and a book late into the evening. Sometimes I am upset when I come home and then bed has been unmade, looking so untidy, but maybe it can serve as a sort of photograph, a memory- for the comfort and simplistic beauty that it holds. Maybe a metaphor for the other areas in life, to approach them with the same sort of ease and simpleness. Maybe its time to collect simple white bedding so one can appreciate the form and the beauty of an unmade bed, and not look at it as another chore, but rather a form of another medium, a simple work of art.
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