Sunday begins with a fold in the linen and light spreading across the wall. A pillow has kept the shape of a head. Nothing in the room needs to be returned to its proper place quite yet.
On a working morning, these details are crossed on the way to something else. Today there is time to notice the warmth of the wood beside the bed, the edge of the sheet, and the quieter light beneath a chair.
A slower day need not be empty. Water still has to be heated and somebody will become hungry. The difference lies in the intervals: a cup can wait on a surface while a conversation continues, and the next task does not have to arrive before this one has ended.
The room gradually changes around the people using it. A pillow moves to make sitting easier. A folded layer is carried to the window. The arrangement becomes less composed and more comfortable as the morning goes on.
There may be a meal later, prepared from what is already in the kitchen. For now, the first small decisions are enough. Open the curtain, find the cup, leave the door where the air can pass through it.
By afternoon the bed will have been made, or left in a different kind of order. A strip of light has moved beyond the place where the pillow was. The day has continued without asking the room to hurry.
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