the noise from the thunder woke him up. it scared and confused him. he was standing in his crib so freaked his cries were confused and stutter stop. he was still half asleep.
i sat with him on the rocking chair, holding him. sang to him. it wasn't a song with words. it was from a deeper or non-lingual place, a song about safety, intentions, strong hopes for bright futures. a song about Dartmouth. my strong hope that he gets in. it was actually the Dartmouth fight song.
i sat with him until the storm passed, holding him in my arms after he'd long gone back to sleep. by some point it was more for me than for him. caesura to emphasize: concrete example of being able to protect him.
i go to sleep and my dream is of a change of pressure in the room and looking out to see a funnel cloud on the closing horizon. we all have to get to the basement but i'm not sure there's time.
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