Jack was in it. Of that I’m sure. 3 am wakeups these days generally lend themselves to worries about my boy. Usually there are no genuine worries about him, so I make some up and stew over those for a while. I generally then have to get up and peek in through the door that separates our bedrooms, and stare in the direction of his crib until I can make out his form. I like knowing he is there, and of course I know he’s there without checking, but I check nonetheless.
The wind figured prominently as well. I dreamed of it all night – in my dreams it blew out windows, tossed papers, scared the dog. In reality, it blew in a delicious chilly weather, perfect for this time of year, and that is all it did. We are well sheltered in our city apartment.
I threw in a metaphor: I remember something about bones, though I’ve lost the other half. 3am and howling wind lend themselves to spooky writing. Wind stripping a tree of leaves, bare branches, moonlight . . .
We took Jack to play basketball this afternoon at the gym. He loved loved loved it. He threw the ball, chased the ball, ran and giggled and laughed this deep and almost evil chuckle that he’s trotted out lately. He knows it tickles us to hear him laugh so mischievously. We are a wholesome family.
Thanksgiving soon. Class sooner – in five minutes – so I’ll end this odd ramble now.
:o)