writing session

A day boiled into younger Tony, by the end of the night. Awakened at the bells of the local church in Scotland, the ample but crisp cool was tepid and flowed on the wooden grounds. He was not able to experience such a simply serene feeling for most. It was Mother! She'd poured into the room, dwindling on the chair as if she'd been there for hours, near blending into the structures and colors of the room. A long face created, then direction of each one's head met the other, "tony," she shuffled for a cigarette to the corner of her mouth, producing an almost glorious show before saying anything. "Aren't you ready yet to go?", she concluded; the edifice of which questioning conclusion maintained with Tony's feet withdrawn and simpering to the floor.