The living room couch was like Grand Central Station: a flurry of daytime activity surrounded it.
Quick early morning cups of coffee were spilt on on the sofa before resting purses and briefcases were hurriedly grabbed from its centre. Once the early morning bustle was over, a sigh was heard and feet were placed on the overstuffed cushions. The lull in activity was welcomed before the beige couch was surrounded by the whoosh of the vacuum and the scent of polish.
Around noon either the twitter of book-club ladies, the rowdiness of the bingo group, or the tranquil chatter of the knitting club as preemie blankets were created was heard. Even though the space was busy, there was a calmness in the activity.
The afternoon lull was short before the plump seats were jumped on by energetic feet happy to be home. Snacks were eaten in the deep recesses of the cushions while in the next room the unmistakable sound of oil sizzled in a pan.
The couch was unused, but the sounds nearby did not bring serenity.
Then a favourite part of the day: storytime and the snuggles between parents and children.
The lull before the quiet.
Parent time while the television buzzes softly in the background.
Then the living room turns dark and the sounds of the night encroach.
The house sleeps as does the couch; resting fully and preparing itself for the repetition of the early morning routine mayhem.
A couch’s work is never done.
© Colline Kook-Chun, 2019
(This post is linked to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday challenge)