A Gift

It's quiet, late, with rain left over from this afternoon's hail storm still seeping from the sky.

Baby sleeps, but only as long as my foot keeps bouncing. My love sleeps, two hours past the promise of "just ten minutes." I am grateful they find rest.

I've contemplated the writing of these few sentences for far too long. Words, beaten to death and back again, before they ever had a chance to float free. Afraid of where they may land; ashamed if they fall like lead balloons. How deeply I rub the grit of failure into the open pores of my skin.

But how could I worry these moments and memories will hang heavy? If these small piles of thoughts become but cairns, marking our way, would it not be enough and plenty?

So I begin. Again. Flinging them free and running for cover.