Rural Midwest

I woke up.

Complete silence.

The ceiling was bare and when I rolled over I caught a glimpse out the window. Through the shear, laced curtains I saw a highway stretching parallel to the horizon, a large front yard bordered by trees, and the trucks parked in the driveway.
The bed came up just to touch the windowsill so I draped the curtain aside and propped my chin upon the flat wood. It was dusty and there were several dead flies strewn around lazily, but I didn’t care. It was perfect. I opened the window slightly and to my ear’s delight, the fresh dewy sounds of morning rushed upon me. The temperature was slightly breezy yet impeccable at the same time. The occasional bird chirp complimented the rays of sunlight smiling silently at the world. The sun was just peeking over the line of trees and the air tickled my nostrils.
If noses could do such a thing, mine would be drooling just then.
I pulled the blankets around me and cuddled closer to the framed farmland sunrise bursting with golden-white clarity. The curtains danced and dangled gaily in the wind, silently folding into themselves as is the habit of cloth left to the open breeze.
It was all beautiful and I didn’t want it to ever end.
I didn’t know why life couldn’t go on like this, sleeping in my friend’s impossibly soft bed while he slept God knows where; watching the sun rise over a faultless day in the rural midwest.


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