Soft Rainy Morning

It was the scent of lilacs that woke me up, drifting in through the open window. The white priscillas billowing out on a breeze suggesting rain, carried their soft scent. I moved my face to a cooler spot on the pillow and ignored the clock, pretending that I didn't have to get up soon. I love a rainy spring morning. I allowed myself to not answer the beckoning of morning duty. The newspaper rested on the front porch in it's plastic rain proof wrapping. The dogs still slept, the puppy warm against the old Labrador, on their tattered and chewed dog bed. My daughters, dreamed on, their mom alarm clock had not gone off. The green kettle sat on a cold gas burner. Soon enough, soon enough, the morning would begin. I smelled the lilacs, I watched the curtains blow in the wind, and listened as the sound of soft rain was out voiced by a clap of thunder.