The silence of an inn before the guest doors swing open to the common areas is a calm that breathes good morning to just you.
It’s so quiet, except for the flow of the spillway outside a nearby window three floors down. A river is already in a rush, brushing past the sleepy old mill.
The solitude settles deeper within as an unseen cloud pitter-patters drops against the windows peeking into the darkness before dawn.
Soon, the guests will stir this Bliss away. And they’ll whisk past Dotty, the joyous soul whose roof we slept under, eager to get away and explore.
But until then, time has stopped, at least for this moment, this long moment where I’m a part of the Stockport Mill, present with everything.
I forgot about my coffee and book and just do nothing.
Do Nothing: it’s never in the brochure. But for now, I don’t want to do anything else.
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The Ohio Traveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun
