All day the cold clear air has filled the house,
as though making room for Spring.
A week of no school has brought an ebb and flow of quietude and bustle.
There is a new sense to the air,
a clean, rousing freshness,
an expectancy that somehow stirs the deep Winter sleep in us.
And so a child who hovers somewhere between,
almost grown but not quite,
espies a tiny doorway and escapes with her lifelong friend
down the rabbit hole of yesteryear,
discovering treasures that bring squeals of delight and remembering.
And there they find they remember how to play,
how to let themselves be taken away to another world
recalling trials and tribulations,
and laughter holds them there,
forgetting to be cool and wise and self-conscious.
And so the game moves on, away, forgotten, transformed into something else
carried away I believe is the saying,
and two little boys creep in,
entranced and shy and unsure what these are,
these wondrous creatures with pretty clothes and pretty faces.
But soon the room becomes quiet,
deserted by the rabble,
projects abandoned, doors flung open,
and I find myself alone.
In the warmth of my kitchen I stand and listen to the deep silences.
That strange fullness of quiet that fills and slowly expands the air,
until it feels like a presence, a familiar.
Somewhere in the house a door bangs,
and screams and laughter echo down the hall,
footsteps running away.
And I watch through my window,
through prisms of bright light as these children break out of the depths
of their Winter swaddling,
pushing their way out into the sun.
There was dancing too, amidst the ebb and flow,
take a peek over at ~Carnival~
to see what we've been listening to!