Still

Little nudges.

Morning. Is the stillest.

Every movement an echo.

I see your chest rise, the fall — maybe a stir.

He nudges.

Good morning to you both. 

In the halo of light, I whisper for God to protect me, to protect us. 

Feeling the insults ahead.

Weekdays feel like a battle. 

Guarded, armored.

Onion-ed up within a hostile zone.

Each interaction a tug-of-war.

Countering all. 

Negativity.

Balancing grace.

Fatigue.

Balancing gratitude.

Winning.

Seeing purpose.

Opening and closing. 

Safety and not. 

Presence and choice of disengagement.

Retreat inward.

To see him. 

Rolling in circles. Imagine him bounding up walls.

Him laying on your chest just after birth.

Your gentle kiss on forehead.

Peace.

It’s my vision of safety now. 

Daydreaming.

Visualizing.

Daydreaming.

Visualizing.

The difference?

Knowing that’s the goal. 

So I show up. 

Miming the day.

Knowing promise is held.

Chosen to protect and carry abundance.

Abundantly.

On the defense.

All. 

Relationships feel skeptical. 

All. 

Hyper-aware.

Caged.

Sunlit kitchen, promises. Hopes.

Green. 

Good morning to you both. 

He nudges.

I see your chest rise, the fall — maybe a stir.

Every movement an echo.

Morning. Is the stillest.