Resounding percussion from a hollow in the wall. Faint rhythmic echoes down the hall. I can’t quite make out the lyrical throng or I would happily sing along.
As we age, our hearing may slowly diminish. This has been a opic of several discussions between the older members of my family. So, when I asked my son what music he’d been playing down the hall and he replied he hadn’t, I wrote this poem.
We poets will find inspiration in the strangest places!
When my grandchildren were small, I would often be asked to care for them while their parents worked. I delighted in the opportunity to watch them grow.
My youngest grandson would usually run around the room making “pew-pew” sounds, aiming his lightsaber at the cat or an intruding alien from a far-off galaxy. But sometimes, he would join his sister and me under a cozy blanket on the couch. We’d spend the evening watching Disney movies (for the umpteenth time). We’d drink spicy tea and eat ice cream until they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer.
Now in their teens, they still greet me with the same, “Hi Gran,” when I visit.
Disney princesses serenade along a frozen riverbank. A bowl of ice cream liquifies on the table beside us as our hands coil around a cup of steamy Bengal Spice. Childhood wrapped with laughter, curled up together, cocooned in a fluffy pink blanket.
’Til next time — I hope you have some children in your life. Cherish all the moments you get.