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The beds in my house are all full tonight. Books strewn across the floor and a lone sock missing its twin stir up dust layered recollections. Like mist from a pond in the light of a new day they rise in memory. I picture my children once small. I close my eyes and ruffle their silky hair bending down to kiss them goodnight. Etched in memory like it was last night.
The big king bed is covered in kid, three of them sprawl out and still don’t overlap. None of them reach to half its length. In my Studio two older girls have set up camp. Beads and wires will cover my art table before I’ve had coffee tomorrow morning. For the nest two weeks I’ll find the lost beads with the powerhead of the vacuum; tiny spheres ricocheting up the metal wand, swooshed away by a current of air.
This is family. A human cord reaching back to the old and being pulled forward by the young. Connecting us to our past and showing us the future. A gift from God that gives deep meaning and purpose to our lives.
A prayer of thanksgiving squeezes out of my heart and through my lips.
It was all so good.
It still is.