It's still dark outside when Charlie wakes up in the morning. In the house, it's quiet as I get dressed and make up a sippy of milk for him. We snuggle on his bed while he drinks and wakes up, the warm weight of him on my lap, the last vestiges of his sleep slowly melting away.
We go outside after, in the cool dark of morning before the sun has
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I think they're probably right. Just listening to the voices on the wind is a strange combination of soothing and mystical, confusing and calming. It's so much a part of the night - and so unlike every other call to prayer during the day, I feel as if I've stumbled upon something precious and private.
I hope Charlie does remember it, but either way I hope that you read this with him when he is older.
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I do hope Charlie remembers this time.
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