There's early morning sun gently warming the front porch, making the bricks glow just outside of our foggy, front-hall windows.
I relish it because tomorrow it might fade again into the deep silvers and grays of December.
There are bathrooms calling, dishes waiting, floors beckoning, lists screaming for attention.
But my feet won't move, gaze won't stray from the softness of the light.
This time of year that glow is fast fleeting like the month of November
or the morphing of baby to toddler
or preschooler to boy.
So I watch it all carefully
in recognition of the sun's movement
the winds shifting
the bodies growing.
I watch it all happen before wide open eyes.
Only then does it seem to last a little longer.
And I'll take even just a little.
