Early morning hour.

Whirring up memories of
sleepy summer mornings,
offering peace, ease, rest.

The coolness an invitation
to soften, soothe and allow.

A knowing that all is well.
All is right with our world.


The essence of all that I long for.
A longing for all that you created and held for us,
your children, your dearly loved daughters.

As you rose early each day,
placing fans in windows to call in fresh air,
you made space that held us,
nurtured us
carried us
calmed us
sustained us.

Even as we slept,
we drank deeply from your wells of strength.

I tasted this again in the early morning hour
with my own son snuggled to my chest,
asking for his bottle with soft whimpers and squirms.

My sister sleeping on the big couch with her sons,
lulled by the steady turning fan.
Its hum and breeze filling the living room
with the wall full of windows
looking out across the lake.

The lake which holds our dad’s ashes,
along with memories of many summer days
full of sweetness.

May I create even a sliver of this for my son,
For our children yet to come.