monarchs by Brooke Stevens
SaturdayApril 14th, 2012
Rain. A rush of drops against the house. Gray threatening to keep the sun away. But birds—dozens of them—singing anyway.
Light has come. Another day has arrived.
Flowers reach for the hidden sun. Worms wriggle through grass and stretch across concrete.
And I wake in the place I wanted us to be three years ago. When we were two years short of our five year plan. Living in the city. On the edge of growing my career, letting roots take hold, when I decided that the most important thing was for my kids to know the good I already knew.
Grandparents nearby. Water everywhere. Miles of trees.
And enough space and quiet to give a kid the chance to think freely, create from scratch, and grow to appreciate the moments in life that will affect them most profoundly.
Like waking on Saturday morning. To the rush of rain against the house. Morning gray threatening to keep the sun away. But birds—dozens of them—singing anyway.