All day I thought about writing. So here I sit. The music is on. The tea aroma slowly swirls the cinnamon underneath my nose. Where do I begin?
Looking more closely at time . . .
This was my gift. Unlike an average day, I beat the kids home from school in time to welcome them off the bus. Hands full from my day, I tip-toed through the damp fall lawn to the edge of the property where the street met the yard. I spied Jillian's head through the bus windows as she turned to descend the black rubber coated stairs. After exiting, she stepped aside in order to make room for the other happy faces anxious to meet their waiting mothers. Her neck craned upward looking back into the bus for her responsibility. Eventually, her hand reached out for another little hand. From behind the hand a purple -coated first grader emerged gleefully grabbing her big sister. Glancing up at the bus driver in tandem the two girls darted across the road and melted into my arms.