"Let the gratefulness overflow into blessing all around you. Then, it will be a really good day." Louie Schwartzberg
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posted by Susan Dominikovich on , , , , ,

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The rain falls lightly outside my open window.

Somewhere out there, a caterpillar creeps towards safety to build its chrysalis.  We will find it hanging in an unexpected place like the window eave, or the back of a deck chair.  Hopefully not a log of wood destined for the fire.  But we will be careful.
This time.

My garden opens its mouth, quenching its thirst.  New salad greens, fresh zinnias, tired shrubs.  All grateful.

Inside the cat sleeps on a box in the lounge.  Not a purpose-built cat-box but a toy box left out.  Because my cat likes to hide in boxes.  She sleeps by day in the safety of our home and hunts by night in places where no mouse or rat is ever safe.

Buster rests beside me as I write.  If I stir, he will look up.  If I move, he will follow.  When I come back, he will settle too.

Loyal. As only a dog can be.

I hear only the rustling of the sycamore leaves and the rain pattering on the deck. 

And I hear my girl coughing.  A barking wheezy cough that she cannot shrug so is having a home day.

A rest day.

For both of us.

We were supposed to be at the beach on a school trip but the rain had other ideas for us.  And I am glad.  I am glad of a rest day with my girl that is growing up too quickly and blossoming into something so beautiful she takes my breath away.

Stay.  Stay a child with me.

A moment ago I wandered down the hall, Buster not far behind, to see how she is doing.  She sits, cocooned in her quilted duvet watching The Fellowship of the Ring.  Blushing at the sight of Aragorn, her first crush.  Dolls on either side of her.  Still a child.  And she is smiling.

And I am glad to see her smiling because she has been worried.  The cough worries her.  The cough that reminds her of when she couldn’t breathe, an allergic reaction to the dyes in her new grown-up-girl clothes.  She remembers that feeling of choking fear and she remembers the late-night trip to the doctor for steroids to get her lungs working properly again.

She remembers.

And so do I.

But this time it is just a bad cough and she is smiling.  And so am I.

Safe.  Safe in our cocoon.

Somewhere outside a caterpillar is transforming itself into a monarch butterfly.

Safe too.

And the rain falls lightly outside my window.


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