In a darkened night a small house sits, the moon reflects softly off the windows. The wind gently presses on it, the house stirs with a soft settling moan. Quietly I step inside careful not to tread on any stray toys, the occasional bit of dog food, or other floor debris of a family home. I discard my pack and empty lunch bowls, quietly, always quietly lest I wake the sleeping pair.
I take the stairs slowly, placing each foot firmly and with great care to avoid creaking stairs. I reach the top and slowly open the quarter open door, slowly moving to stand beside the crib. She lays there gentle as a lamb dispute the evidence to the contrary: strewn stuffed animals, twisted blankets, and a dislodged head rest. A gentle sigh escapes as she settles, rolling over to one side. Peaceful, quiet, angelic, and content. I yearn to give her many more nights just like this.
Slowly paced I move to the hall and towards my own bedroom. The mother of an angel lays sleeping. Deep under cover and nestled with her pillows. I know she is probably half awake, slightly aware I’m here. I change and slide into bed next to her, a soft murmur and she rolls over with a soft kiss and a whispered, “I love you.” As I curl around her, I whisper back “I love you.” Together we drift off more relaxed and content in bed together than apart, resting for another day with our angel, another day of trials and tribulations. At least we have this night at home before the dawn.