It’s hard to say what’s different today. Maybe nothing has changed. The air does have that kind of feel to it—the type of feel that causes people to do things they wouldn’t usually do. I wonder if anyone knows what I mean. I may be the only one who notices, that when the air changes they follow.

No, I’m confident they don’t. Right, I bet when I get out from under these covers and venture downstairs, the lady my father calls lover will not be doing yoga in the conservatory as she usually would. She will be acting so uncharacteristically that my father shall need to speak out. He’d say, ‘oh my dearest, you mustn’t work too hard, or all your beauty will be spent, rest now, I’ll take over.’ and she’ll not budge. He wouldn’t say a word on second thought because he, too, will be acting uncharacteristically.

Yes, I shall prove this,  she threw off the covers and raced down the stairs. The kitchen fills the halls with the smell of cooked oats and fried bacon. The conservatory light is off, and my fathers’ study lays empty. A tall blonde woman tends to a pan on a gas-powered stove. She Looks up and says,

“Your down early. That’s a nice change.”

Checkmate.

Like and follow for more!