Lily tucked two mousey brown wisps of hair (that had escaped the roughly styled french twist) behind her ears. She had woken to a morning that smelt like buttered toast and cinnamon. Sipping a brewed coffee from her favourite cat mug she mused about what the new day might bring.
After draining the cup dry she washed it and just as she went to place the cup on the dish rack the phone rang. The shriek of the phone ringing gave Lily such a fright she dropped the cup onto the emerald green kitchen tiles smashing the cup beyond piecing back together with super glue.
Thomas arched his back and scurried off the mat and through the hole in the back door to see if his lady love Lily needed help. He surveyed the broken bits of china on the floor then looked up into Lily’s face. He was pleased to see that she was not crying this time.
I have been having a very dry time of it, my muse has been hiding out and though I’m not sure she is back, I just this moment felt ink trickling through my fingers and so Lily was born.