5:00. It comes early.
My fingers fumble for the button.
I think I ask, Is your alarm on?
And from deep within sleep, I hear, Yes.
He holds the blankets up for me and I snuggle deep into his strength,
like every morning,
and we drift.
5:20. He says,
It’s still too dark. I thought it would be lighter.
We roll and turn and reform and absorb the warmth and togetherness.
Now, we don’t drift, so much as hesitate.
And then it’s time.
Wash and brush and pour, and then, slip into our suits.
Outside,
black to blue to gray to pink,
it is the most amazing time of day.
Light washes away Darkness,
Dawn gives birth to Morning.
All of humanity seems to sleep
as we breathe in life as it should be.
No cars, no voices, no busy. Just …
as it should be.
Our oldest in the backseat,
we pick up two more with another decade or two on him,
and later, two more on a dock.
The boat slips in quietly
and disturbs the stillness.
We hear water lap against boats across the cove.
Then, it is quiet.
The motor hums, as it is No Wake
and we slip past others.
The boys are here for the challenge, the adventure;
I am here for the light.
And to witness.
And to preserve.
They ready themselves,
picking up courage by their life-jackets,
donning both and listening to last minute instruction.
Water becomes gold,
and he slips in,
this boy-man of mine.
He grows up,
out of the water
succeeding on his own,
making his way.
They take turns,
each learning and becoming,
rising up to meet challenges,
trying new things,
even me.
I watch
and witness
and preserve.
*****
I am blessed with so many little, everyday gifts.
I am grateful for strong arms to snuggle into every morning,
for my sweetest friend who pretends he’s not as old as he is,
for early mornings of adventure,
and mornings as they should be.
For magical light and beautiful colors
and the ability to see them.
And I am especially grateful that I can be there,
to witness and preserve,
growth and change,
and night turning to day,
Sharing these with Emily at:
And Darcy at:
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