3am. It’s become his hour. Doesn’t matter that we’ve just moved house. That we, his parents, are weeks behind on sleep. That the corridor looks different. Sounds different. No more creaky floorboards, but a whole lot more mileage between his room and ours. Maybe that’s the point. This kid with mussed-up bed hair that makes him look so
This morning the kids found a baby bird hiding under one of the outdoor chairs in the garden. Though wild, it acted tame, even allowing the kids to pat and stroke its little back, all the time keeping its soft wings held close to its side. ‘Lets call it princess,’ suggested W (princesses being the
“Isn’t it cool that we all live in the same house!” O. (aged 4) So, we’ve been living in a college residential property for over six months now, sharing a big, old, beautiful house with four other young families, our kids spilling out each day to play on a shared front lawn, our daily lives
Yesterday the night came early. Everyone inside, cheeks brushed red from play. Late June. Time is passing. This new year already mid-way through. I know the house now. It’s pleasures, and idiocyncracies. I know how to walk in the night hours to avoid the weak floorboards. How the light looks at dawn, as it filters
In the late afternoon at our place a breeze comes through the garden, touching every living thing, including us, with tenderness. Dinner time is almost here. The intense sun has run its course for the day. No need for anymore sunscreen, and hats can finally be abandoned – if desired. We inhabit the garden freely.