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Rainy Sunday mornings, you wake up to the storm roaring on the roof, but the covers are so warm and you don’t have to go anywhere today. Sunday mornings that turn into afternoons – the hours float by without notice, the memories from last night pop onto the social media screens and you lounge in the pillows, knowing you can because the world outside is closed and empty. No stores open anyway, no errands to run. Bruch plans canceled because of lackluster headaches from too many glasses of wine under silver olive trees. Scurrying out to the kitchen in slippers to make hot tea. Shuffle back to bed and start up Game of Thrones on the computer. Watch the birds flit through the garden out the window, swooping up under the vines of jasmine, the white flowers drooping under the weight of the rain. Sunday mornings and fried eggs. Steam coming from a coffee cup. Tomorrow starts a new week full of things to do and people to see. But today, there’s that warm sunny feeling even under the clouds, and the world seems far away, and everything just feels right.

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