A quietly hopeful day

The sunlight stole softly around the edges of the blinds and drew me, gently into the morning. My son had risen before the day itself seemed properly awake, appearing at six o’clock with the certainty only children possess. It was far too early, and with little persuasion he surrendered once more to sleep. Two and a half hours later he descended the stairs, still heavy with dreams, and declared that Cheerios would be required. Obedient to his lordship’s wishes, I filled a bowl with said cereal, added cold milk, and laid it before him for his consideration. A second helping was soon demanded, and dutifully provided. Outside, the sun drifts in and out among wandering clouds as we begin the quiet business of imagining the day ahead. My nieces, his cousins, will arrive later. The weather, I think, will hold, and the hours will pass as summer hours should: buoyed by laughter and bright smiles, with plentiful snacks and regular hydration breaks (as is the current fashion). I write these…