This is my favorite.
Christmas night.
Gifts are open,
Everyone asleep from a long day.
Except you and me.

We’ve got the tree on,
But no other lights.
No music or television,
Just basking in the glow.
But there is some sound.
You’re purring in my lap.

I’m sipping my wine and
We’re just resting together
Alone in the dark
in the light of the tree.
You and me.

I run my hands down your back.
Your purring gets louder,
But you don’t open your eyes.
I feel the sharpness of your bones.
The frailty of your small body.
Your fur is dulled these days,
Your joints creak when you move.

There’s a sadness in me this year,
And I know our days are numbered.
We’ve been together a long time,
And I know sometime soon
You’ll have to go.
This might be our last
Christmas night together.  
So let’s just sit awhile longer,
You and me.

“Mommy, bees flyin’.”

I stop sorting laundry. “What?!”
My head swivels around to where my son is looking, where the winter morning sun
is streaming through the window.
“Oh! Oh. No baby, those are dust motes.
Just dust floating around.”

The look of wonder on his face never falters. “Oh. Dus mopes.” He reaches his little arms out and stirs the air.
“So pretty, Mommy.” He’s smiling.
So am I.

And so we stand there watching dust swirl around in the sun beams,
forgetting all about the laundry,
but remembering well the sheer
magic of childhood.