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Yesterday Morning

The clock says its morning but even the light coming in the window is still tired. It glows only a soft gray having reluctantly fought its way in through the blinds guarding our sleepy sanctuary. A little pink creature is curled up beside me and her rhythmic breathing is whispering to my eyes, "Close. Close. Close." Past the door and down the hall--which really could be miles and miles for all I know--I hear little voices and a bigger, yet quieter voice and the sounds of pots and pans and spoons clanking. The sweet smelling creature stirs; her hand brushes against her soft mouth and suddenly a tiny tongue licks it like a lollipop as she peeks at me through one slit of an eye. Sleep wins out and the slit closes. Rain taps gently on the window. I breathe in deeply in some effort to inhale all the wonderfulness of the moment. "Almost two months," my mind tells me. I lay a hand on her round protrusion of a midsection; it rises and falls, rises and falls comfortably. I think simultaneously of how twenty years will someday seem like nothing and of how there couldn't possibly be any better sound than that of thunder rolling in the distance.

The door opens. Four sparkling eyes are behind it. Day begins.
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