Placidly sat on a chair in my kitchen, alone but not lonely, I look out of the French doors
This whole morning speaks of quietude and calm neutrality
French doors ajar, I hear an intermittent, soft rustling amidst the trees outside, as a breeze caresses the multitude of autumnal leaves
My faulty tap slowly drips in the metal sink
Contentedly I partake of my morning coffee ritual, hot liquid comforting my insides on this chilly October morning
I gaze at my floorboards and admire the grain in the wood, patterns of nature frozen in time
My mind tries to find some deeper meaning to all this, some philosophical substrate
But maybe some moments don't require a deeper meaning, maybe this calm, ordinary morning is perfectly sufficient, sufficiently perfect
This morning is complete and beautiful as it is, with the rustling of the leaves, the dripping of the tap, and the patterns in the wood
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