It is 5:30 in the morning. Crickets sing their melancholy, and the open windows let in the cool, darl air. In less than an hour, my son's alarm clock will begin to play whatever rock music plays at this time of the morning. He will tumble from bed, silent, unused to the dark, unused to the gentle prodding from bathroom to breakfast table to backpack.
After my son trudges up the hill to the bus stop, I will wake my daughter, wrapped mummy-like in blankets with dolls and stuffies. Her body will feel warm, and I will have the urge to lie beside her. She has more time to prepare for the bus that takes her away most mornings for the next nine months to school.
A bittersweet day. This has been a good summer--even I found the time to slow down--yet I welcome the return to schedule, to routine. And this morning, as every morning of the first day of school, I will find myself weepy-eyed as the yellow bus pulls away from the curb. Peace...
Awwww... beautiful words describing an always touching scene. *passes you a tissue.*
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