Early Bird

I've hit the snooze button three times already but it's still too early for this night owl. The room is dark and quiet except for the slow, heavy, steady breathing next to me. Peaceful and deep.

I'm in the kiddo's bed. He woke up last night calling for me to stay with him. As usual, I obliged. I resist the urge to pull him close, to squeeze, to shower that sweet face with kisses.

Instead, I roll out gently, prop pillows all around him, and click the bed rail back into place. He's too used to my warmth. I've allowed it, of course. No guilt. Just happy to indulge before it's all gone too fast.

I shuffle out and see a sliver of light filtering through the slightly open office door. Hubby's up but I walk past, selfishly wanting more of the morning quiet to myself.

I move slowly to the kitchen, put the kettle on for tea, open the blinds. It's another clear, bright, blue morning, and I'm ready to enjoy the cool breeze before the heat rolls in. I brew the tea and with hot cup in hand, I settle in a chair on the patio. I'm glad for the tea because the chill is more than I expected.

The air smells clean, crisp, and green. Fresh.

It is a still morning. I sit for just a few minutes and soon I hear the sounds of our little town waking up. The flutter of wings, the music of our small wind chimes, the distant shouts of neighbor calling to neighbor, the low grumble of a freight train, the hum of traffic on the highway, a car starting and revving engines. Rhythmic and routine.

Hubby emerges from the office and is shocked that I'm not just awake, but also up. I shush him back into the kitchen. I need a few more minutes.

I spend those minutes listening to his sounds: water running, dishes rattling, the tap-tap-tap of knife against board.

I'm ready now, and as I enter our home, I'm thankful for hubby who packs his own lunch, the warmth of the house (which in a few hours will also keep us cool), for the extravagance of silence, and the gift of being able to stay home and enjoy the kiddo who will soon shatter the quiet and fill this space with his own sounds.






 This post is a writing exercise created by the blogger at Just Write - The Extraordinary Ordinary. Check her out!