A New Day by Julie Atwell Inspired by Karen Kaapcke’s drawing – The Foot

Lisha stretched in the early morning light.   Her arms slid along the length of the bed under her pillow and past the bars of the wrought iron headboard.  Her legs extended along the cool expanse of white cotton sheets.  One foot pushed into the white duvet cover that was part the tangle of blankets and she pushed it off the edge of the bed. 

Once she was fully stretched out she spread her arms and legs wide and reveled in the freedom of an empty bed.  She was an affectionate person, and generally loved the warm little bundles of her children’s bodies curled against her for comfort.  And once, she had more than enjoyed having the body of her husband there beside her. 

She had loved the weight of his muscular frame making an indentation in the mattress that would cause her body to roll close to him.   She had loved the warmth of his body, and the soft, rumble of his breathing as he slept.  She had enjoyed resting her head on his chest, the sparse strands of hair, tickling her cheek.  She loved the weight of his arm resting on the curve of her waist.

But now, she relished in his absence, possibly more than she’d ever enjoyed his presence.  The unrestricted freedom to move without thought across the bed, or through life, was a luxury she had forgotten was something to enjoy. The rediscovery of who she was without anyone else to measure herself against was almost intoxicating.

She rolled onto her stomach and smushed her face into the smooth, white cotton pillow – wrapped her arms around the pillow and pulled it down close to her chest, hugging it.  She was so comfortable, so at ease in her solitude that she almost drifted back to sleep – but she was too energized, too excited to wait  any longer.

She stretched again, then rolled over, extending her legs out over the edge of the bed. Then letting first one foot and then the other touch the floor, she started her day.