My Morning in the Style of Jane Eyre

In the whisping torrents of fading dreams, I awoke this morning to the gentle pat-pat of soft drops caressing the panes from heaven; those cool spring showers lighted upon my foggy windows like the tapping of a thousand fable fairies. From behind the shadows of the soft, sheer curtains emanated a certain glow of blue morning mist and sleepy fog melting down from the mountains beyond.

As I lifted my head from my fading slumber, oh how I noted how quickly and ferociously the hours pass in the night and my nightmarish visions transform into gaity—daydreams that light my feet from my repose and send me softly to the warmth of the bath. How I revel in the warmth flowing from the pristine faucet above me, the source of such cleansing; a simple delight that I would feign but enjoy daily—if not eternally—with the sweet scent of honey almond soaps and sudsy creams lathering my senses.

Ah, me, how the hours pass so quickly, as Juliet would say to her beloved Romeo; it is how I feel, dear reader, as the morning passes and I submit myself to the duties of the hours forthcoming. To spend these precious minutes in services and practises only so worthy of these jewels of time is my only hope in such a world of unfulfilled promises; and yet, I thrive in the beauty and nature of such a glorious creation as this. Such a hopeful environment is mine in these ever-passing days; a torrent of indeed bearable duties mingled with pleasant tasks that bring me fulfillment and cause me to sleep soundly and ever so quietly when the day has gone by.