December drabbles - 23
Some mornings nobody wants to wake up—the air's too cold; bed-clothes too snugly warm. But sounds of movement disturb him now. Feet bound. Doors rattle and slam on pots and pans. Scents drift with mysteries to share; laughter in the bathroom; giggles in the crib; and church-bells ring.
Some mornings he buries his head and pretends he’s not there, pretends not to care. But today baby brother’s rushed in with milk-suds on his chin. “Christmas!” he says; it’s one of the few words he knows.
Some mornings are different, so just for once, just this morning, the teenager grins.
Some mornings he buries his head and pretends he’s not there, pretends not to care. But today baby brother’s rushed in with milk-suds on his chin. “Christmas!” he says; it’s one of the few words he knows.
Some mornings are different, so just for once, just this morning, the teenager grins.
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