Listen.
That sweet, sweet sound. Remember Wind in the Willows? It's the Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Try to remember. The baby otter safely sleeping, curled up in the lap of dawn as the satyr pipes in the morning sun.
Dorian Alexander, four years old, is asleep in Jamie's lap. She ruffles his hair like the gentle wind ruffling through dry meadow grass. She hums like the brook beside the house. Her face reflects the peace in his. Her breathing reflects the pace of his. And what I do is what I always do; I watch and I remember. I remember so that when the winds are not so gentle I can still feel them whispering in my ears, nuzzling my cheeks, readying me to outrun the storm.
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