It is morning, but deceptively so because fall has roared in with rapid surprise. This time of year always blindsides me in a delightful way because one morning I am jolted awake by the sun streaming in through the slats of my old wooden shades and the next I rouse groggily as if I'm in a cocoon not yet ready to open. The latter is also jarring until I get used to it. This morning, I awake but don't budge. Instead I listen to the quiet, happy hum of my still mostly-dormant house. T breathes evenly next to me, sound asleep and happily so. At times, a hint of snore will escape his lips or a slight shift in inhalation or exhalation will alter the consistency. I hear not a peep from Ol's room: when he sleeps, he sleeps! And then as soon as he wakes, it's hello world!
Nutmeg and I have had our morning snuggle during which he purrs like a sleek motor. He's slinking around our rooms now, observing quietly except for the continuing purr.
Jack is humming when he's not outright singing, and though I've not yet peeked in, I know exactly how I'd find him. Wearing undies only, he'll have made a warm tunnel of his sheets, will be on his tummy and propped on his elbows. His lamp is on and he's reading or rainbow-looming. He doesn't know I'm listening to him and his sweet, innocent sounds. It's very dear.