Mummy on a Saturday Morning

Mummy on a Saturday Morning

It is 7.30 am on a Saturday morning. She is still in her pyjamas, sipping hot coffee in silence, a cooking book on her lap, trying to persuade herself she feels cosy and relaxed. No rush today, no we-are-getting-late-for-school haste, nothing urgent on the list. It promises to be a calm, low-paced day full of smiles and happy family moments.

Then it comes up again… That suffocating sense of pressure, as if too heavy a burden has just landed on her shoulders. It overwhelms her and evokes an instant and severe headache (she wonders if a massive quantity of her brain cells is being irrevocably killed right now). And of course, it destroys completely the beauty of her morning coffee ritual.

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The Woman and the Book

The woman and the book

It was a chilly grey day in October…

She stepped into the bookshop and forgot about the world. Completely. She deliberately got lost in the long corridors of bookshelves, eager to touch the treasures hidden in there, to feel the different textures of paper, to open the covers carefully, and inhale deeply. Oh, how intoxicating the scent of paper was!

Over there… A book caught her eye. It was big and had a gorgeous cover. Many books had gorgeous covers, of course, but there was something special about this one. The book was calling her over. She hadn’t come here in order to buy anything. She only intended to be around all that loveliness for a while. And then, after spending a few minutes with herself in the precious calmness, she would go away. But that book! It was still there challenging her to get closer and take a peek. It was so shiny and tempting. And it was showing off arrogantly as if it was a living creature being aware of its beauty. Yes, it was exceptionally beautiful with the cover resembling a work of art.

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