Like the dawn and light in sky, Anna woke slowly in her rise. In move and pass before kitchen’s window showing amber light, he loved and adored the natural-pure of her morning way: face unmade, freckle-pattern of skin, light, over brow and cheeks and bridge of nose; flat of her waking eyes like sky, not yet fully lit, unframed in dark line’s draw, fair natural of her lash; the free and fall and show of her breasts, unbound in burden of bra—way of their rest, way of their move—slope’s show of shape through loose covering shirt, hint of her ends in shirt’s draw and fall from points in her further waking and touched by morning cool through opened window; braid of her hair in hold behind, loose strands in fall and framing of face, still; spring-scent of the air along with the cool, his wondering on what was of world and what was of her and if, in realm and power of place, there was discernment of the two.
Amazed, awed—in love—he adored the natural-pure of her morning way, she wholly at peace in place they made as home.