Short, Sweet Ditty
Saturday, April 4th, 2009
Beneath the pulled shades and the night-light left glowing late into the morning, the house was almost still except for one early riser. Weak light tried its best to leak through the curtains but only managed a bright stain in the material. The little girl slept in the big bed with her body turned sideways, her head rested in a crook in her father’s arm from middle-night to now: half passed seven on an overly cold March morning. Blankets are tangled and rolled into large piles, folds have enveloped the toys she took to bed with her – a toy horse and a miniature bicycle it balances on. And she slept beyond her normal hour of rising by some two hours and her father guessed that maybe it was his presence that helped her sleep along.
