Birdsong and Sunrise

Abel sat quietly on the porch, waiting for sunrise and the sound of feet, little feet, on the chilled oak floors. The mist was rising off the water, offering a surreal feeling to the moment.

“Abel?” A small voice, still quiet with the remnants of sleep came from behind, “Where’s mom?”

“She’s gone to town. She’ll return soon.”

Abel watched the child, his struggle to stay or retreat back to the comfort, safety, familiarity of the only home he’d ever know. A look of decision came over Jack’s face and he slowly took a seat on the bench by the window, the cadence of his breath slowing to meet Abel’s as they continued to watch the mist rising off the lake.

Abel pondered the haze as it lifted and swirled, moving out over the dew covered grass. Calm, he thought. That is my role here, to maintain calm.

He could still see the tire tracks in the dirt drive. They had arrived without warning, knocked on the door and delivered the news. So unceremonious. What would he tell Jack and Abigail? His mind began to move, the cogs and gears turning to action, and he could feel his pulse quicken. No, he thought, breathing deeply. Just calm.

He closed his eyes, gripping the worn armrests of the rocking chair that had once been his own father’s. He could feel the grooves worn down by years of heavy hands wrapped round those same pieces of oak. A glint of orange rose across his eyelids and he smiled, acknowledging the sun as it began its slow ascent over the horizon on the east side of the lake. The wind stirred and the swing hanging from the old willow tree began to move with it. Another remnant from his childhood. Another time altogether.

He looked over at Jack, swinging his feet as he sat on the bench, shoulders hunched, deep in solemn thought. He was growing so quickly. What would he say when he found out?

Another set of feet on the oak floor, as the screen door creaked open with a yawn behind him. Abigail.

“Good morning, love,” Abel smiled at her sleepy eyes and mussed hair. She clung tightly to her stuffed horse, misshapen with the years of dutiful security it had already given her.

Abigail climbed up to the bench and sidled next to Jack. “Good morning, Pa. Morning, Jacky.”

Jack pulled her in close, giving her a squeeze. “Good morning, stink face,” he teased.

“You’re a stinky face!” she smiled back.

A lark began its song in the trees and a stillness entered Abel’s heart. No stopping what comes next, he thought, letting out a slow breath. He shifted in his chair, grasping once again the grooves under his hands. “Give me strength, Pa,” he sent out a silent prayer as he turned to face them, the sun continuing to rise behind him.