My bedroom is shrouded in twilight. The sounds of tiny feet shuffling on the carpet breaches the silence. I pretend to get a few more minutes sleep. The bed rustles and tiny bodies slide against my sides still warm from their sleeps. I sigh inwardly wondering when their internal alarms will stop sounding at six in the morning.
The small form on my right whispers, “you tell a story, then me, then you, and you.” I stretch, longing for the echo of sleep that clings to me like cobwebs.
I yawn, “Once upon a time there was two little boys…”
By Shari Marshall – originally post in 2018