On this early, fall morning,
just cold enough to feel inside the house,
I wake up early. Not too early, but
earlier than everyone else.
I sit at the desk,
it’s thrift store Tiffany banker lamp
the only light in the room,
except the hint of dawn
sneaking through the window.
This rare, lone morning, a week
after the birth of our second son
will not be lost on me.
A book is calling to be opened again before
our eldest son wakes for the day.
Next to this drafty window
I drape a Pendleton over my lap
feeling like a ragamuffin
needing more time in the oven.
Finally,
I settle to take advantage of the morning
before the day begins.
The page, found,
the coffee, sipped, and
a deep breath, taken
for the sacredness of the moment –
a prayer,
a silent appreciation,
a stillness.
“Daddy! Good morning!”
I exhale my ‘amen,’
put the book back in its place
with a smile
as the day begins.