In the wee small hours of the morning.

I have it to myself.

The house. Its quietness is in every nook and cranny. But only for a moment.

Soon the creeks of the doors open and the pitter patter thunderous clomps of the childrens’ feet can be heard throughout. A door slams here, a kid is yelling there, the shower pops on, the TV goes on, every light in the house goes on, milk is spilled, cereal is spilled, juice is spilled, clothes are strewn across the rooms, socks flying, underwear flying, shoes lost, backpacks misplaced,  and then in a flash, they are gone.

And my house is quiet again

And a mess.

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One response to “In the wee small hours of the morning.

  1. That was poetry , very fluid words. I saw your house happening in my imagination 🙂

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