Time was I would wake to the sounds of feet and children’s voices. Breakfast to be set out, lunches to be made, shoes to tie; blow dryers with their pitchy hum while last minute papers are shoved into backpacks. Sounds loud and clear before becoming echoes in the hall and sneaking quietly out the door.
These days I wake to the bubbly hum of the fish tank and the sound of my husband grinding coffee beans. I arise having to tend to no one other than myself. No rushing, plenty of time to shower. There is time for a cup of tea or two, while I consider the view of the day.
In the passing of moment into moment everything slides in upon the dawn. It is the sounds of the morning which mark my passages of time. From babies crying hungrily to be nursed to the fish tank bubbling quietly. In between lay the stories of a mother, gathered like pearls on a string, to be rolled through my fingers slowly while I sip my tea.
Sadh Bakshish Kaur