Impressions Of The Morning

<p line-height:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:="" none;text-autospace:none"=""><span>I reached into the laundry basket, pulling out the rumpled tee shirt he had slept in the night before. I held it to my nose, breathing in his scent, deeply immersing my sensibilities with the impressions and images of him. In the soft weave of the cotton were his broad shoulders, his strong arms, and the feel of his gentle fingers stroking up my back. His smell hinted at the tenderness of his voice as he whispered my name. It echoed the warmth of his skin on mine, as we snuggled in bed each night. Holding it to my cheek, I rubbed my face in his tee shirt, thinking of how much I loved him, and how much we meant to each other.
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Looking over at our bed, I imagined us laying there under the covers, spooning, allowing the tensions of the day's activities to escape our outstretched muscles. I felt his arm reaching forward, wrapping itself around my waist, his large hand pulling me closer to him. My mind drifted, as I remembered him whispering his love for me behind my ear last night. Feeling his breath caress my cheek sent tingles through my body. It was during those times, where I wished I never had to get up out of bed, staying in place, so the moment could last forever.


I glanced at the window, the late morning light illuminating the blanket -- our only witness to the passions of the night. The pane was silent now, never once letting on through its reflections, what time he'd be back here again with me. I stared out into the distant yard, longingly, not wanting to wait until that special time when my body could embrace his once again.


The sound of the doorbell snapped me back to reality. Taking the basket in my arm, I plodded down the stairs to see who could be calling so early. Behind the wooden door was Carolyn, my good friend from down the road.&nbsp;


“I’m heading to my ceramics class, Toby, but Pat can’t come with me today. She’s not feeling up to it. Would you like to join me for today’s class?”


“I’d love to. Will they let me take her place?”


“Sure, the instructor shouldn’t mind. Besides, we are sculpting today, and there will be a male model.”


A secret smile passed between us. I had never sculpted from a live model before.


“Give me a second to put down my laundry and I’ll be with you in a moment,” I told Carolyn.


Hurrying to the mirror I checked to see if I seemed presentable enough to go out, and the two of us got into her car.


The class was at the art center, in the heart of town, not too far from where I used to work.&nbsp;It was great to get out for a change, and I looked forward to relaxing with something creative. When we got to the classroom, we all helped ourselves to a formless lump of cool, moist clay. We were told to make the basic shape of a reclining person, just a loose connection of rounds and ovals that would ‘suggest to us’ our final creation.&nbsp;


In a few minutes, a fit, middle-aged man came out wearing a robe, and got up on the table in front of the room. His hair was dark, with just a splash of grey, and he moved as if modeling wasn’t something he did every day.

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