jlulo
The pen nearly slipped from my cold, groggy hands. The baby was beginning to stir and cry in his crib. I gripped the pen firmer, resolved, and began to write. For only a minute could I express this thought onto the paper before returning to my duties, but it was all I needed.
Waking up to the sound of my newborn son, my eyes wide open, without the familiar sleepless fog present everyday of my life before he arrived penetrating the lenses of my new duty -- providing nurturing survival to this littlest wonder.
Bursts of flames reach up from the solid, crisp line of the horizon so many hundreds of miles away sending glittering flashes of golden light upon the ripples of the ocean right before my eyes.
The door opens. Upon the fresh air of the breeze wafts the scents and sounds of those entering, voices and smells melding, molding, muddled, and mashed -- the cacophony of a house becoming a home.