Morning Feet

Source: bodieandfou.blogspot.it via Les choses de on Pinterest

This morning I was blessed by waking up to the sound of small feet.  The running back and forth on the hard wood floors and the wonderment of how that burst of energy can be felt so early in the morning.  As I listened it took me back to another time when I was listening to my own waking up with that burst of energy.

Such love is presented in those feet.  The sound of happiness that the day has begun and the sound of determination as they look for another toy or as they explore the household acting as if it's the first time that they are seeing it.

When someone leaves us, the sound of morning feet is one of the things that we miss.  We miss waking up and seeing them waiting for you to crawl out of bed and make their breakfast.  We miss hearing the bare feet slapping against a hardwood floor, calling out to you mommy, I'm awake.  We miss that first smile in the morning and that first hug they throw our way.  We miss the sound that the day has begun.  The way we are reminded one step at a time.

Yes this morning as I listened to my Grandson's feet I felt blessed.  I felt as if God was reminding me, giving me a present, a warm and simple memory to begin my day.  He was waking me gently, rocking me from a night of slumber with a pleasant sound, a present for my ears. 

What sounds remind us?  What are the sounds that bring a smile to our faces?  At four thirty in the morning I can't think of a more pleasant sound than two tiny feet running back and forth, up and down the hallway reminding me of another time, another joy, another happiness.

A MOTHER’S TEARDROP

When I’m asleep,

I dream of you,

And not the sadness,

Of your plight.

I dream of yesterdays,

Gone by,

I dream of holding you,

Upon my lap,

Of conversations,

Once held dear.

I dream of you my little one,

I dream of you so near.

I can close my eyes,

And see your smile,

Anytime of the day or night.

But the one thing I can never do,

Is hold you close for real and true,

You’re not here,

You’ve flown,

Gone to heaven I’m sure.

And for the sadness of a mother’s heart,

There never can be a cure.

If you close your eyes and dream of me,

Just know that someday,

When I’m underground,

That no more fantasy will prevail,

Our hands will clasp for real.

Linda Bowden