I scoop grandbaby in arms, eyes twinkling, grin pulled back, both hers and mine.
And I hear the words of Peter Pan whispering, “Come with me where dreams are born and time is never planned.”
But we are one, in this moment, when trust pools in her eyes like a soothing summer stream finding rest in a glen, so I linger in the nursery a little longer.
We rock and sway to the lullaby song, a song I’ve sung to her long before she was born. A song I sang to her before I could feel her move under skin and when her tiny heels arched pathways across swollen belly.
And the music pirouettes around the nursery room as we dance and she smiles. READ THE ENTIRE POST…