They sit together like this every night, his downy head nestling underneath her chin. Moonlight peeps through the window spreading a glow over the tiny room filled with baby things. All is calm, all is quiet other than the rhythmic sound of chair runner against hard wood floor. She considers all the babies soothed in this old rocker, handed down from past generations. He wraps his warm hand around her finger. She breathes him in. Powder, milk, sweetness. She wonders who he will become.
|photo courtesy of mvictor @ morgueFile|
This was written especially for GBE 2: Blog On Week 130 – Prompt: a conversation with no words…
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.