Bed sheets sing a morning tune. Outside two house wrens announce daybreak. Snuggling near her lover’s cheek, she brushes a stale kiss across his ear.
He is her husband. She likes to think of him as her lover. She mouths a good morning before asking why don't men come on to me anymore?
Silence hangs like a pall over the bed. Balancing on her elbow, she searches his face awaiting an answer.
The wrens repeat their greeting. He recasts her question thinking she needs support. “You wonder why men don’t come on to you? Because you are loved dear, because you are loved.”