The air is crisp; fall is just around the corner. It would seem that we’re not the only ones enjoying the temperate weather. Most windows in our courtyard building are open this evening, including ours.
For the first time, I hear a wailing baby. And not too far away, a defiant toddler punctures the crickets’ chorus with his dissent. These distressing sounds, once part of the urban symphony to which I’ve grown accustomed and which I’ve scarcely paid attention, snap me back into focus.
This time my ears are perked – they hone in on the anguished cries of children like preschoolers to bubbles. I don’t enjoy their misery, but I feel a sense of solidarity. Like we’re all in this together. Mothers. Fathers. Big kids. Little kids. Our homes may not be the same, but our dance is. Sometimes we glide effortlessly. Sometimes we flail and stumble.
As the curtains gently sway and lift to allow the outside air into my living room, swirling the piercing sounds of nearby children who aren’t mine around that of those who are mine, I breathe deeply and deliberately. Then I exhale, relieved. Assured.
It’s not just me.
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Have you ever felt this way before?
image source: 107-0773_IMG by mtnbikrrrr.