Tag: young mother

A mist hangs over the valley, sticking dew-like to the leaves on the old maple tree out behind the coffee-colored barn. Eerily it dominates the space as nothing else is stirring in the cool breeze that accompanies the overwhelming moisture. A gray house stands sentinel over the property, approximately 20 paces to the south of the old barn, with all of its shades closed, shutting out the muted morning light. Across the cobblestone road there is a rusted cistern that sits isolated from everything else, like a middle child who often gets forgotten in the hustle and bustle of family life. Water swirls around its basin in a clockwise fashion, indicating its position in the northern hemisphere, and its slow gurgle is the only sound that can be heard in the area.

In one of the small rooms upstairs in the gray house there are old-fashioned bunk beds, upon which lie two children, dead to the world. The younger one snores loudly in a syncopated rhythm from her perch in the top bunk, covers pulled up under her chin just as they had been when her mother tucked her in late the night before. She dreams classically of fluffy, white sheep sliding over and under a perfect picket fence in pursuit of one another, and there is a smile on her lips. Her older sister tosses and turns in her sleep, plagued by nightmares that luckily don’t impinge upon her waking hours, complements of an overactive imagination that serves her well at playtime. They share a bedroom out of necessity, but they are also best friends, a happy coincidence.

Outside the mist begins to clear, no longer obscuring the sun that has risen in the eastern sky, as it slides off against the backdrop of the multi-colored horizon. Continue reading “In the Morning Hour”