the morning is ours

Its six o’clock. Or maybe five, or four, or (please no) three. And your angry grunts tell me you’re so hungry you’re about to burst. Your father feeds and kisses you one last time before leaving us for the day and you are not placed back into your bassinet but laid gently beside me instead.

From the day of your birth you have been so alert, so awake at the world and its no different today. Your beautifully big eyes are wide and searching, tiny feet kicking and fidgeting as you fight against sleep for the first time of the day. The sun hasn’t yet joined our party of three (by this time a certain dog has crept from her bed and into ours, sharing warmth) and chilly blue light is reaching its fingers through the blinds. Absolute quiet. Soon our day will start and I will run, run, run the race until I’m ragged at sunset. But for now it’s just us, just us and our small exchange of breath. You look up at me and there is magic in your eyes. There is God in your eyes, like a fingerprint left behind as He molded you from the star clay.

The day belongs to madness, but the morning is ours.

2 thoughts on “the morning is ours

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