It's early here. So early that the sun's not quite a sun, only light.
And it's cold. Cold enough that the edges of my window have registered the frost.
But it's quiet. So quiet without the noise of little one, the pitter-patter of
little feet on the hardwood floor. And suddenly I'm sad, bereft.
It doesn't last long. The sun is out. And the little one is here.
It's not so quiet now. And suddenly I miss the quiet of early morning,
and the frost on my windows. I close my eyes and
I imagine what my life would be like without him.
And I smile when I open my eyes and he is there.
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